Saturday night was the fifth annual Kegger in the Woods, an all-night festival of grilled food, tables of salads, dips, desserts and condiments, dogs, toddlers and children (until the grandmas take them away at 9:00, anyway), and, as my favorite fig-filled pastry used to say, “here’s the tricky part”: a 16-gallon keg.
Mmmm. Keg beer.
You hear that? That humming sound? No worries, mate. That’s my brain, post-party, absorbing the life-sustaining nutrients found in ice-cold Diet Coke.
I’ll be fine. Fine!
And today’s writing will in no way reflect what may or may not be a bit of a hangover.
So! Having talked around a fire until 3:00 with other late-night folks, laughed until my face hurt and slept in a tent for the first time in five years, what stands out the most?
Jesus Martha, have you been in the woods lately?
Minnesota has had an unseasonably warm September so far, and a new crop of flies has appeared, hungry and legion.
Would you believe two of the little buggers actually landed on the picnic table in front of me – right in front of me! – humped incredibly quickly and then took off without so much as an “excuse me”?
It broke my little world wide open.
Why have I never considered their tiny little urges?
And more importantly, if I’ve failed to consider the sex lives of flies, what else have I missed?
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