Something to Stew About

Something to Stew About

Noel Laflin

2-18-16

As it is pouring rain at the moment, I cannot go outside to play.

And as I finished reading the latest novel, just last night, there is no great book on hand to while away the morning.  And it was a damn fine story too – the kind you hate to see end.

So it is that I will tell a short tale to fill the time until the sun breaks through once more, and I can wander off in old tennis shoes, camera in hand, that do not mind muddy conditions – the shoes that is – not the camera – just to be clear. They, the shoes, already sit upon the front porch, soaking wet from the overnight drizzle, and now sudden downpour.  I should have moved them indoors before the storm, but it’s too late now.  Hell, they’re just going to get wet and muddy anyway.

Thus it is that I am reminded of the time that Tom Early and I were tapped to be cooks for a large crowd of folks attending a weekend, ‘Theater in the Wild’ experience at O’Neill Park – some thirty-five years ago.

Why we ever said yes to the request is still a mystery.  But, people do strange things for theater friends.  Shoot, I even convinced my own sister to join in the festivities. 

So, we decided to prepare a hearty stew at my home in Costa Mesa – and transport it to the campground, some forty miles away, in large pots.

 

The pots were still warm when we placed them in my little sports car.  As space was tight, one even sat in the passenger seat, bumping up against my right shoulder, making the shifting of manual gears a challenge.  That pot would be the one that sloshed considerably when I hit a speed bump in the park of course.  But, I wear beef stew rather well.

And then the unexpected rain storm came, dampening our fires in the campground, and forcing us to serve lukewarm stew to wet and grumpy folks who’d been wandering the oaks all day, watching and partaking in their soggy outdoor theatrical experience – now hoping for a hot meal at least.

In a desperate move, young Tom is sent to Cook's Corner, the local biker bar to enquire as to their allowing us to host our feast.  The bikers say no.

One damp and hungry participant, a woman who had survived the recent Mt. St. Helen's eruption, sums up the day and cold stew by proclaiming that 'we were worse.'

By the end of the afternoon, and many apologies later, my sister, whose task it was to serenade folks with her magic flute, had failed to come back to camp.  She had driven her car up a dirt road, prior to the storm, so as to better position herself to play for the wandering theater-goers.

I went in search of her, soon discovering that her car was stuck in the mud.  With a lucky rope at hand we were able to free her from the quagmire and get her on her way home.

And then there were all of those dirty pots to clean and untouched gelatinous stew to toss. 

To say that the day was an utter disaster would be incorrect, however, as I do have this tale to share.

Well, I see that the rain here has now passed.  I believe it is time try on those soaked sneakers and head off in search of birds and turtles – my own theater in the wild.

And when I return, I believe I’ll have a nice grilled cheese sandwich, some hot soup, or anything warm to restore my wandering soul.

Anything but stew.