We had the opportunity to watch the opening ceremony of the Olympics. I was pleased to hear the cheers for the American team, and also to hear the German announcer announce us with enthusiasm. It touched my heart when I saw a German athlete run over and give an American Flag to one of our people, since the American team was trying to be low key and weren't carrying flags. We're developing a great love for the people in our church and for those in our building, though it's hard to get to know them because we're always in a hurry passing each other in the halls. May God bless Germany, and God Bless America.
I didn't catch that angle from the news media.
I avoid politics at Rendezvous, but sometimes chuckleheads insist on imposing it on me. This one guy, a tourist [we 'voyageurs' call them "flatlanders" - at the Grand Canyon, where I used to work, we called them "tourons"] who I instantly sized up as a drunk, talked about what an a-hole Bush is. My wife thought he was a child molester. I gave him some answer that indicated A. that I agreed with him partly, B. that I had thought about the issue more than he had, and C. that he should move on. Damned if I can remember what I said, but he did move on. My wife told me later that he claimed to be a college English prof. What a freakin' shock.
No pics of that guy, but here are a few other pics.
Sunday morning, the cold woke me before sunrise and I raced up Mount Rose to snap a few pictures. This is the view of the Fort from there (Oops! Let me shrink that):
I mention it first, because first thing Rosie wanted to do after we set up camp there on Friday was to climb Mount Rose. Of course, this picture was taken at dawn on Sunday, but the weather was much the same all three days and I forgot to bring the camera the first time up. It was quite warm when I took Rosie up there and she was barefoot, so after a while, she discovered that long walks on rough, hot pavement were hard on the feet, and I ended up carrying her much of the way. Did I mention that she's large for her age? I felt every one of her 80+ pounds before we got back to camp. [Go to hell, pervs!]
The next day, she had learned her lesson and wore her moccasins. (The Chippewa word is Makazin; guess who coined the term.) And she wanted to climb another mountain that was supposed to be down the Grand Portage trail:
Nothing like looking for something that's not there.
She insisted we keep searching for about 3 and a half miles before we got reliable reports that no trail to any such mountain existed. The "mountains" exist, but not the trail. But she was tough this time, and had her moccasins on, so she made it all the way out under her own steam. I should mention that a great driving force was a group of older Ojibwe (Chippewa, or, as they prefer to call themselves, Anishinabe) girls and a misguided leader from the neighboring event, the Pow Wow, who had the same goal. (I'm disinclined to make fun of the term "pow wow" out of ignorance of its origins; the indians I know seemed content with it and most of the old terms, that we "anglos" commonly use, seem to come from ojibwe or iroquoian roots.)
You may notice that I seem to be inclined to allow others to learn from their own mistakes. And that I am perfectly happy to suffer along with them in the process. This is true, but the fact is, that I believe that these kinds of suffering very quickly result in wisdom, endurance and strength. Those are my highest values. Quite simply, they fit into my personal agenda. Why stop somebody who's headed my way?
Saturday I joined in the "Rugged Voyageur Pentathlon," which consisted of 1. starting a fire with flint and steel, 2. carrying a 90 pound pack of furs about 30 yards, 3. properly folding and pressing 5 beaver pelts, 4. carrying a glass of - very euphemistically termed - "high wine" (they were kind enough to use lemonade mixed with tea this year; I understand the concoction has been quite revolting in the past) balance on a diamond-shaped voyageur's canoe paddle, followed by drinking it, and 5. kissing the cook: "Marietta". "Marietta" hasn't shaved in "her" life. Voyageurs didn't see many white women in the Northwest. I placed out of the money in this event. Though I can't say that I shamed myself. I leave it to you to decide what that means. Rugged indeed.
Sunday, after my photography session, I joined an event that some card named "The Yoke's on You!" It was a strength contest in which the contestant military pressed a water carrying yoke with two wooden buckets of water (six gallons total) attached. I placed second with 36 reps. Not surprisingly, a blacksmith (if he's not a native Scot, he never stops playing one) beat me with 38. Of course, I contend that he cheated his last ten reps with excessive leg movement, but I realized when he started to do it that the rules didn't preclude that. Crap!)
But it was a most enjoyable time.
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