Most important, mom and dad are visiting! And they brought rare clear(ish) skies with them. We took a bus two-thirds of the way along the park road and saw Denali itself gleaming in sunlight, numerous caribou, a few groups of celebrated Dall sheep (whose near-extinction helped motivate the organization of the park), a couple moose, ptarmigan, a golden eagle, and pretty much everything but a bear -- though we did stop to look at recently impressed paw prints. There were endless stunning mountains and river beribboned valleys.
Last week was basically dedicated to revelry. The teen boy squad (our fabulous 18-21 year old troop of dishwashers) had been hard at work building Shantytown, their very own nest in the woods beside our dorm, complete with tarp awning, extra car seats, wooden platform, and high-rise triple-decker hammock. They hosted a shack-warming party-cum-talent show, offering grilled cheese and jungle juice to all who came. People kept their acts close to the chest, and we were all thrilled and chilled by the feats of intellect, artistry, and brute force onion eating. If it had been my vote, I think my friend who perseveringly sat in a tiny chair and ate an onion for TEN MINUTES should have won, but, astonishingly, I won after singing a little song, and was ennobled with a lovingly constructed cardboard-and-beflagged-toothpick crown. Then we all drunkenly harassed the bartenders next door. Then we had our own little Drunk History night. Then a group of us drove up to town for a real live bluegrass show with like 1,000 people, more than I've seen in weeks.
It's all a nice lead up to 33. I aged a few extra years in the last twelve months, but maybe acting 23 will even out feeling 43.
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