Tuesday, July 14, 2009

No. 45

Beer: Berkshires Brewing Company Hefeweizen
Date: July 11th, 2009

Place: Mohawk Trail State Park,
Charlemont, MA

Some things you can’t plan for.

You can’t plan for the rain if the weatherman told you not to worry about it and then you find yourself in a deluge with no rain gear AT ALL in jeans barely having had the time to put the rain fly on the tent and laughing to yourself as you are standing under an umbrella trying in vain to keep the campfire going under an umbrella thinking of the time you were a guide in college and you totally would have been prepared but for this trip you just brought suede shoes. And jeans. And beer.

You make the most of your situation. You take one of the tents that collapsed because the heavens opened and poured out the goods, and you toss it over the popped gate of a 97 Ford Explorer. You crack open a cold one that you happened to get in town before the dry wasn’t. You notice the overtones of bananas. The undertones of beer.

You talk with friends who are about to leave town.

Friends of a friend who you sent a Facebook message to, not expecting much, meeting them one morning for a brunch. One of those weird “We’re meeting a friend of a friend and the most we can talk about is that friend who you all realize that you didn’t know for too long” brunches. Where you try to not let the silence sit along too long, or it gets stale, and the brunch is over and you don’t argue over the check –split it right down the middle, thanks – and you leave and you decide whether you liked those people and if you’d ever hang out again.

You do. And you find yourself seeing them at church, and you go skiing with them, and you invite them over for pizza or Christmas, and before long two years have passed and they’ve got their masters from MIT and they’re moving on and you are happy for them and a little sad for yourself, that your friends are moving, but you are thankful for the times that you spent together and you are suddenly glad that you have been forced to sit in twenty eight square feet that smells like campfire, rain, banana beer.

And you wait for a break in the storm. Planning your dash to the tents.

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