On Friday evening I had the pleasure of meeting and chatting with one of the delegates to the Alaska Constitutional Convention. I talked about legislative intent with someone who actually knows what was intended. Because he was there. It's his intent! My mind is still boggled.
On Saturday, I spent the afternoon at an outdoor beer tasting event. While most of the beers were a little heavy on the hops for my liking, there was live music and a pleasingly hipster vibe. And I hear that everyone can grow to love hops, so maybe I'm on my way there.
Then, on Sunday, the grande finale. Eklutna Lake. Hiking, canoeing, and s'mores. What's not to love? The leaves are changing here, so even the drive up was breathtakingly colorful.
Once at the lake, we started with an easy hike, which was lovely but uneventful. But then I took my turn on the canoe. Big mistake. Apparently I'm prone to canoe-induced meltdowns. My fellow canoers and I had paddled for maybe five minutes when someone says "hey I bet we can make it to the foot of that mountain there." To which I respond, "I don't want to do that." "But we CAN make it, so we should," he counters. Then, as if on cue, our vessel is rocked by a tsunami-like tidal wave (some people have suggested that this was not a "wave," but was in fact a "ripple." Whatever.)
"WE HAVE TO TURN BACK RIGHT NOW."
"Katherine are you crying?"
"I'M NOT CRYING I'M LAUGHING."
"It sounds like you're crying."
"I'm just experiencing extremely diminished marginal returns right now. I mean really what's the point of canoeing longer than five minutes anyway? And I'll have so much surplus when I make it back alive. That's really all I'm trying to say."
So we went back. Am I proud of this? Maybe a little. Was I laughing or crying? Not sure. Was it a wave or a ripple. A wave.
Safely back on dry land, I practiced my rock-skipping and learned how to throw a football. Then, once everyone was back in one place, we built a fire and made s'mores.
There are worse ways to spend a weekend.
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