She loves me, I swear. For those of you who are like me and did not know, sump is a word. "A pit or hollow in which liquid collects." Thanks, Google. Just outside my cabin -- complete with mini-fridge, microwave, and a distorting full-length mirror that squishes my body into an esteem-boosting goblin shape -- rests such a pit or hollow. It's more of an extremely shallow pond, actually. Stupid Google. Furnished with the finest grass blades and weird gooky stuff, it is the permanent address of a large family of Canada geese, their ugly ducklings, and some elusive beavers. I shall see a beaver before the summer is through. No need to fret.
I haven't begun rehearsal for the Illustrious Virginia City Players yet, so I've been exploring the cabins and the gooky stuff. In doing so, I have quickly made a new best friend in a golden retriever named Rosie. One of my fellow Players has been her companion for the past 11 years. The white flecks around her red-brown eyes and hollowed cheeks give away her old age, but she otherwise maintains a sprightly, positive attitude and an inspiringly youthful outlook on life. My favorite thing about her, though, is that she disguises herself full-time as an Irish setter. She's a total ginger, and it's awesome. Humans are not welcome in the sump, but Rosie has a lovely time lapping water, submerging herself completely, and then expecting me to pet her. We have already struck a beautiful dynamic.
Next to the picnic table where I like to sit and watch Rosie yolo her way around the sump rests a firepit. The Players engage in nightly campfires here, which are quickly becoming my favorite part of the experience. We consume Angry Orchards and Mountain Light as the Players' resident bromancers Alex and Drew manstoke the manflames and mantalk about being manmen. Update on the boys' club: it is self-aware and lovably mockable. Phew.
I continue to be entranced by the endless stars in the sky every night. Maybe it's the herbal refreshments. Hot tea, I mean. The crackling of the campfire and the sounds of Montana accompanied by late-night icebreaking add to the vibe some kind of something I'm sure an ancient Viking culture managed to encapsulate in one word. I can't though, so I'll just end the entry on my personal new favorite: sump.
I haven't begun rehearsal for the Illustrious Virginia City Players yet, so I've been exploring the cabins and the gooky stuff. In doing so, I have quickly made a new best friend in a golden retriever named Rosie. One of my fellow Players has been her companion for the past 11 years. The white flecks around her red-brown eyes and hollowed cheeks give away her old age, but she otherwise maintains a sprightly, positive attitude and an inspiringly youthful outlook on life. My favorite thing about her, though, is that she disguises herself full-time as an Irish setter. She's a total ginger, and it's awesome. Humans are not welcome in the sump, but Rosie has a lovely time lapping water, submerging herself completely, and then expecting me to pet her. We have already struck a beautiful dynamic.
Next to the picnic table where I like to sit and watch Rosie yolo her way around the sump rests a firepit. The Players engage in nightly campfires here, which are quickly becoming my favorite part of the experience. We consume Angry Orchards and Mountain Light as the Players' resident bromancers Alex and Drew manstoke the manflames and mantalk about being manmen. Update on the boys' club: it is self-aware and lovably mockable. Phew.
I continue to be entranced by the endless stars in the sky every night. Maybe it's the herbal refreshments. Hot tea, I mean. The crackling of the campfire and the sounds of Montana accompanied by late-night icebreaking add to the vibe some kind of something I'm sure an ancient Viking culture managed to encapsulate in one word. I can't though, so I'll just end the entry on my personal new favorite: sump.
