The Pull of the Elk II: Ten Records, Give or Take, and a Bottle of Jezynowka

It is time for another trip to the cabin to still my quaking nerves and temper
the shift of my lofty or scattered ambitions. I am stressed by the upcoming move
and the shifting of time that makes me older but not wiser as I battle my apprehension
and dismiss the fact that I actually graduated with a Ph.D. no less, but I can never appreciate
my good luck or all the hard work that went into finishing the dissertation, many of it at the cabin.

I pack a small number of records; we changed the rules this year, only ten,
but both Donny and I are bringing more surreptitiously, unbeknownst
to all except each other. We knew we each would and discussed it
more than usual, sifting our collections for the unknown, we
grabbed albums to introduce to each other like new friends.

 

After last year's AC/DC debacle, where he tried to play the discography and was shut
down, the decision was made (by who?), in passive voice resistance, to bring albums that
were near and dear to us and no one else;  this exempted a few requests, a few double albums,
and several eulogies to the dead, Matt "Guitar" Murphy and Vinnie Paul. Several loud toasts and
 amplified expressions of remorse require Blues Brothers and Pantera through Cirwin Vega speakers.

How many years have we come? Did we agree upon ten? I made many trips with different people,
but these epic trips only occurred after bachelor parties and birthday blowouts. When did
Matt Oley bust his ass on that rock? When did Dan Oppermann attempt skinny dipping?
When did Steve and Matt almost come to blows? What events make up these different
years? How many records have been repeated? At least Dio and the Beastie Boys?

We swim in the river every year, and last year the leach that bit me suffered a tragic fate.
We pile the fire higher and higher like a godawful funeral pyre raised to the sky without a
bevy of skyclad witches but with a chorus of loud, driving music and a bottle or twenty of
the choicest suds known to man. We will wash a keg or two of beer down with a few shots
of Jezynowka. Bryce and Donny will have one, while Josh and I contemplate Pabst lunchboxes.

Let's have the party again, invite all our friends, and make it a good one. I am leaving, but I will
be back. The cabin is eternal, even though we are not. The yearly struggle of picking records
and food, getting our asses to the place on time, and raising a bottle near the fire pit might
almost kill us, but it is certainly worth it. The Elk River awaits, in high and dry years,
and we will return again and again, at least most of us, always loving what we find.