COLUMN: Spending Easter away from, well, everything
My dearly voracious readers, since I live quite some distance from my biological home, I am often adopted by other graciously generous families for holiday celebrations. My most recent expedition, Easter weekend, was quite a doozy.
I traveled with my roommate, whom we shall call, for confidentiality, J-Pugs, to her family farm in Rosette. I was pumped about this adventure because she told me that I would get to hold a baby lamb. How tenderly perfect for an Easter outing.
Where is Rosette? Well, about a few minutes past Park Valley. Where is Park Valley? Well, about 30 minutes past Snowville. Where is Snowville? Well, about 30 minutes past Tremonton, which is about 30 minutes past Logan, which is about 15 and a half hours from El Paso. (To put things into perspective.)
I used to think that El Paso was in the middle of nowhere, but nope, I was wrong. Rosette wins the award for being in the middle of nowhere. In fact, not only is it in the middle of nowhere, it happens to be nothing but a house and a barn. No store, no gas station, no stoplight, no nothin’. Just the Pugs and their lambs, orchards, cows, horses, chickens, dogs and hidden Easter eggs.
Our journey to the joint, through foggy depths of snowy mystery, had several notable sites along the way, such as the ashed, rocky volcano off the side of the road. J-Pugs told me a story about how she almost got eaten alive by a rattlesnake while scrambling on the rocks of this natural wonder. Her cousin saved her life. Good job, cousin.
Another purportedly famous site to see along the way to Rosette is The Lone Tree. (Not to be confused with the Lone … Star State.) The Lone Tree looks just like the tree from “The Lion King” or the lightninged logo of Touchstone pictures. The environment in this particular snapshot of scenery is brushy and sparse, but a single tree, The Lone Tree, stands strongly solo.
One of my favorite sites, besides spotting a herd of 40 deer, was the residence of The Smelly Man. Actually, simply the concept of The Smelly Man. How to describe him? Well, readers, he is the local smelly man, what else is there to say? He seldom bathes, and when he does, it is of no use, because he puts his stinky clothes back onto his scrubbadubbed body. His beard is encrusted with remnants of meals. Absolutely lovely.
In middle school they called me The Smelly Melly, so, yes, I do connect to The Smelly Man. Don’t we all wish, occasionally, we could get away with lack of showering? Submit to our natural states? (Note to reader: I do take a lot more showers than I used to. Willingly. I promise.)
When we got to the home of J-Pugs, she introduced me to a small portion of her family, and throughout the weekend, more and more joined our posse in staggered entrances. Kids. Grandkids. Cousins, aunts and uncles. Friends and neighbors. At the peak of the venture, the annual Easter picnic, friendly chaos logically ensued.
This picnic was held, as tradition would have it, outdoors. Nevermind the snow on the ground. The freezing temperatures. My purple hands. I, shaking with shivers, filled my plate with excellent macaroni salad, sat in a camp chair and watched, in awe, at the lively scene in front of my eyes. One of the first things that struck me was that every single person in attendance, besides me, was wearing boots. Cowboy boots. Cowgirl boots. Work boots. Snow boots. Boots, boots, boots. It is said El Paso is the boot capital of the world, but I would have to argue in behalf of Rosette for this title.
I wish I could describe the events of my visit in a chronological sense, but I cannot. Everything happened all at once. Making bounds of Jell-O eggs. A little girl jumping on my back and demanding a piggyback ride. Saving little babies from falling down a flight of stairs. Playing Blokus. Dying marbled eggs. Melting butter in the microwave. A wee boy biting my leg. Playing Balderdash. Stepping on a oozing green paintball. Opening eight cans of beans. Eating exorbitant amounts of candy. Washing hay from a pink bucket. All accompanied by a postmodern soundtrack of noise.
Though chaotic, it was miraculous. Enjoyable activities occurred. Everyone was fed with delicious food. Nobody died. Gigantic kudos go to the mother, but also to each individual Pugs. Everyone chipped in, everyone helped out, everyone contributed. I was so impressed by J-Pugs’ family. Not only are the Pugs good lookin’ people, they are good-hearted people. Good, healthy, happenin’ people.
Many hostesses at the event felt the need to apologize for my supposedly rough initiation into the family, which I thought was ridiculous because I believe my blunt immersion was beyond fantastic. I felt like I belonged. I was even given an Easter basket. And, best of all, I got to hold my Easter lamb. Did you know that sheep actually say the word “baa”? Well, they do, dear readers. Perfectly enunciated, they bleat, “Baa.” Completely worth the entire trip. Baa. Baa.
Melissa Condie is a senior majoring in music education. Questions or comments can be sent to her at m.condie@aggiemail.usu.edu