Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Hard Work, Fire Tacos, and a Small Town

Day three on the mountain was productive, and tiring. But in a good way. We cleared half an acre of land for  green houses, and cut and split firewood. I helped for a couple of hours, and then I hurt my wrist when I was carrying a fallen tree trunk with one of my friends Casey, and he dropped his side of the log suddenly, and my wrist bent the wrong direction. Luckily it was just  minor sprain, and I can still type, but my wrist swelled up, and looked pretty scary for a couple of hours.
Spanish rice, and taco meat cooking over the fire.
I almost set myself on fire twice.
Since I couldn't work for a while, I was put in charge of  making dinner. We didn't have much except beans, rice, pasta, and bread, because we made the mistake of letting the men shop, so I decided to drive into town and get the ingredients for tacos. Cusick is a tiny town in eastern Washington. I don't mean small like say, Savannah Georgia, but small as in there's only one church, and only one school. There is one gas station, and a tiny little library. The police department consists of one sheriff, and three deputies.
I pulled up to the town general store, which is also the town gas station, and you should have seen the looks on their faces when I stepped out of the farm truck with my burgundy hair and red lipstick. Everyone was surprised, but extremely friendly and warm. The elderly lady behind the counter smiled, and asked me if she could help me find anything, but since there were only four tiny immaculate aisles, I said no thank you, and proceeded into the store.
I'm glad I decided on tacos, because more than half of the store consisted of Mexican food. There were so many different types of hot sauce, and they all had names like, Hogs Inferno, Coonskin Revenge, and Slap Yo' Mama. I have never heard of half of them. There was everything I needed except for ground beef, so I bought some frozen hamburger patties. I grabbed an 18 pack of Kokanee beer, and headed up to the counter. The cashier eyed my stuff, smiled, and asked me if I was sure I got enough hot sauce. I told her yes, nodding sincerely when she looked skepyical,  paid, and headed back up to the mountain.
Cooking tacos over the fire was certainly a process, since I could only fit two pans safely over the fire, and I had to stir everything with a blackened stick. I burned myself almost twenty times before I was finished, but I succeeded, and they actually turned out pretty good. We all torched our mouths with Slap Yo' Mama hot sauce, and drank Kokanee, and had a night of tacos, beer, and weed. I

laughed so much that night, my abs felt  like I had done an Insanity work out the next morning.
This is turning out to be one of the best trips I've ever taken.
C'est La Vie.
Viva La Vida.
And Fuck The System.
Signed, Esther Dolezal ♪♫