This is the week that the vacant portable office building that has been taking up space on one of the lawns at work gets turned into a space that people can actually work in. The building was assembled in the rain a few months ago, allowing all sorts of water to seep into the insulation. The plastic covering the insulation had blisters of water bulging out all over the place, some with the remains of hapless invertebrates suspended in them. One of our first tasks was to puncture all of these blisters and let the water out into a motley assortment of buckets and wastebaskets on the floor below. This was followed by removing of all of the waterlogged insulation and replacing it with old insulation from the building slated to be torn down. After that, random acts of painting and cleanup occurred, followed by the knocking down of a rotted fence. The fence, we soon learned, was home to quite a few Carpenter bees. Fortunately these bees just fly away rather than attack. In a way, this is a welcome break from having a hundred and fifty loud kids at camp. The work isn't too much more tiring either, although I could do without all of the fiberglass insulation residue clinging to my skin and clothing. It manages to get around safety goggles and breathing masks too. At least we've put that part of the job behind us now. Tomorrow I think we'll be up on the roof, and maybe laying carpet.
I'm working with another field instructor and the camp cook, both of whom couldn't pass up the chance to earn a little extra cash. My fellow field instructor is trying to save up so he can walk from Montana to New Mexico this summer on the Continental Divide trail. Sounds fun, if you've got several months to spare.

I got a call from a friend down south today and learned that she just narrowly missed being killed. her truck somersaulted on a desert road, going end over end before landing right side up. The impact burst all of the tires and knocked all the glass out, but she walked away with not much more than a cut on her head. The good thing about this little incident was that it reinforced for her just how concerned and caring members of small communities can be. I've heard this from other friends who have fled the cities - there still is a sense of community in small towns. I think people were never meant to live so close together in such numbers as we find in most modern cities. It is too overwhelming and scary. You can't possibly get to know so many people, and of course when you don't know people, you don't know what their intentions toward you are, which leads to fear and the sudden desire to lock your door and peer suspiciously out through the little spy hole in its center.

The only way to get out from under the clouds of suspicion is to abandon the big cities and venture forth into the sunny neighborliness of the small towns. Okay, maybe it's not always that simple, but I like the idea of it nonetheless.