Something about the smokey scent of the October air conjures
up a feeling of mortality and wisdom. Maybe because the
innocence of the summer season has passed - and now with the
brilliant colouration of leaves, a sneaking sense of effigy
lurks from the nearby pines.
October was always a special time for me. Many times over the
course of my life, in both my teen and twenty-years, I headed
to camp to volunteer with my friends, for many blue-haired
and youthful visitors alike, who re-connected with each other
whilst knowing that a massive meal was coming their way on TG
monday.
One of the most joyous features of this weekend, however,
was that of Jim Lane - the newfie Chef who has long graced
the kitchen of the camp with glorious and glistening grub.
The way that man could filet a turkey was something of a
science, really. Hearing his comments about 'filling up the
trough' regarding over-eager dining-hall eaters was
something that could make a tedious, long, sweaty shift
in the kitchen go by quickly.
I miss Jim - and I hope to see him soon. I also long to
eat turkey and potatoes and hear my insides gurgle and
wilt simultaneously.
