Summer is almost over. School doors are yawning wide, drawing children back in out of the sun and fun of what seems to be an ever diminishing Summer break. Willow starts school on Monday with a somewhat heavy heart because she didn't get her first choice of teachers, although her disappointment stems more from the fact that not all of her friends are in her class.

I've got a slight cold, which is unusual for me. I spent my early childhood eating dirt (and apparently anything else that wasn't nailed down) to build up my immune system, so as an adult, I rarely get sick. This just means that it's doubly irritating when I do.

There is one final week of summer camp, but I've decided not to work it. I made the decision early in the season, figuring that it would be nice to have an extra week free so I could engage in more spontaneous activities. Since we ended up taking a mini-vacation the week before last, I'll probably use the week to get things done. They may be fun things, or they may be necessary things, but whatever they may be, next week they'll get done. That's the plan, anyway.

The last week of summer camp flew by like they all have. The unusually cool summer has caused a notable shift in what kind of wildlife we've seen, as well as when we've seen it. This week was more typical, with the only snakes in evidence being Rattlesnakes. I had one of those Crocodile Hunter moments this week - I was standing in the midst of a pile of rocks when something started rattling very close to me. I stood still for a moment, and finally spotted the snake under a rock about 2 feet in front of me. It had just shed, and was sitting next to its old skin. Not one to leave nearby stones unturned, I decided to check the rock between me and the snake, and sure enough, there was another Rattlesnake under that one too. It had also just shed, so I waited for it to crawl away (I knew it would do so quickly, because I'd seen this particular snake enough times to know its personality) and then grabbed the old skin. Back at camp, we used the skin, some strips of paper, and a laminating machine to make some pretty cool bookmarks.

Night fell, and the corner of the building sneezed out bats into the woods. I hadn't noticed they'd been roosting in the attic. Every so often, I'd look up and see a few more shoot out over our heads. It makes me want to go up into the crawlspace.

The last night hike of the season went well, with only 25 kids in my group (Summer night hikes can have as many as 40 kids, but rarely do). We spotted a couple of big bucks early on, and quietly crept up the trail towards them. Every time the nearer one raised his head, we'd freeze. The head would go down, and we'd creep closer. We got within about 15 feet before they relocated to a more inaccessible area. Later, a Great Horned Owl flew over our heads, alighting somewhere up in a big Douglas Fir tree.

We could hear the music from the nearby Mountain Winery venue, which is located in the foothills to the north. As we silently sat in the chaparral, I pointed out the cricket song surrounding us, and then the human song (and sounds of cheering) from the concert. We discussed noise pollution and light pollution. We gazed at stars, contemplating time and distance. Then, we made our way back to camp, where marshmallows and a small fire awaited. Soon, full of marshmallows, the kids were in their sleeping bags.

It wasn't until the next morning that I found out that the music (a band called Swell Season was performing) we'd heard was destined to be a prelude to a tragedy. The night before, one coworker had noted that the concert seemed to end suddenly, and another had heard sirens. I hadn't noticed. Too busy listening to owls, maybe.

A man had climbed up onto the backdrop behind the stage, and jumped off it, hitting a monitor just feet from the band's singer. He died at the scene. Needless to say, it was a shocking end to the concert. It struck me that this kind of suicide (and suicide it most definitely was) was an act of selfishness and rage, because this man made a decision to kill himself in front of a large number of people, thus altering many of their lives forever, especially those of the children present. Killing oneself can be done in any number of ways or places away from the presence of a large audience. My thoughts on this were confirmed when just a little while ago, I read that the man was out on bail for domestic violence, false imprisonment, and assault with a firearm. I'm in no way trying to diminish whatever the man was going through, and I can't say I in any way understand it because I haven't walked a mile in his moccasins, but I just hated to hear that he chose such a public venue for his final act. I wonder if he thought he'd get his (posthumous)moment in the spotlight this way. In our media saturated society, it's almost odd that there aren't more public suicides. Let's hope there aren't copycats.

Here's a link to an article about the tragedy.