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So I realized that I never actually said what I did this weekend. I should do that.
Anyway, Friday I went down to my friend K's house to hang out before going on his Eagle project on Sat/Sun. He'd called me Thursday to ask if I wanted to visit.
Then he called me again to tell me that he'd forgotten about the contra dancing trip his youth group was taking, that he had set up, and he had to go, and would I mind, it costs nine bucks?
Thus it was at 7:40 I stepped onto the dance floor of the ballroom at Glen Echo for my first contra dancing experience.
Contra dancing is a French term borrowed from the English term "country dancing". We did both line dancing and square dancing. Or, to be glib, confusing dancing and really confusing dancing.
To be honest, though, the dances (except for the one attempted square dance) began to make sense once we were partway through the night. The moves - allemandes, do-si-do's, swings, stars, heys, circles - were arranged so that the dancers generally moved in smooth arcs to meet their partners or neighbors, with pauses between turning around and the like. And the feeling of moving in chorus with dozens of strangers, stepping in sync, was wonderful. (The feeling of foreign sweat on your hand during the allemande was not, but it's not like we all weren't dripping by the end of the night.) At ten o'clock, K, K's family and I slipped out of the circle, changed into less-sweaty shirts, and assembled to leave. We were all out of the showers and into bed about half past eleven.
And then up at six-thirty sharp to get ready to leave for West Virginia at eight-thirty.
K's Eagle Project, as you may have supposed from the subject, was to bridge a small creek. It took place at a to-be campsite owned by a local school and set about halfway between Winchester and Romney, not far from Hanging Rock. Incidentally, this also meant not far from the Hanging Rock Cafe, which (fortunately) proved to be one of the finest country-style dining establishments I have ever had the pleasure to eat food at. (You could tell them that the friend of the kid who returned the spoon that the bald French guy accidentally pocketed after buying coffee sent you, but I doubt they remember us.) The bridge itself was halfway done when we arrived - the platform was laid down across three tree trunks, and two of the end posts were set in the ground. So when we arrived - about 11:20 a.m. - we set to putting in the two posts at the other end and the posts along the sides so as to make the handrails.
Around 7 o'clock, most of the volunteers left, leaving K, K's dad, M, and Mr. S to continue trying to get the two new end posts to set solidly in the ground. An hour later, after pounding about fifty pounds of rock practically into gravel at the base of each hole, we called it a day and left to eat at the cafe before bed. At night it poured.
We rose about seven, eight o'clock the next morning, to get working at finishing the handrails and adding additional posts to secure them in place. Around twelve, we declared the bridge finished for the nonce and began to pack up. Two o'clock we were heading home. About six o'clock K's mom dropped me off at my house again.
Yeah, that was a tiring weekend.
Anyway, Friday I went down to my friend K's house to hang out before going on his Eagle project on Sat/Sun. He'd called me Thursday to ask if I wanted to visit.
Then he called me again to tell me that he'd forgotten about the contra dancing trip his youth group was taking, that he had set up, and he had to go, and would I mind, it costs nine bucks?
Thus it was at 7:40 I stepped onto the dance floor of the ballroom at Glen Echo for my first contra dancing experience.
Contra dancing is a French term borrowed from the English term "country dancing". We did both line dancing and square dancing. Or, to be glib, confusing dancing and really confusing dancing.
To be honest, though, the dances (except for the one attempted square dance) began to make sense once we were partway through the night. The moves - allemandes, do-si-do's, swings, stars, heys, circles - were arranged so that the dancers generally moved in smooth arcs to meet their partners or neighbors, with pauses between turning around and the like. And the feeling of moving in chorus with dozens of strangers, stepping in sync, was wonderful. (The feeling of foreign sweat on your hand during the allemande was not, but it's not like we all weren't dripping by the end of the night.) At ten o'clock, K, K's family and I slipped out of the circle, changed into less-sweaty shirts, and assembled to leave. We were all out of the showers and into bed about half past eleven.
And then up at six-thirty sharp to get ready to leave for West Virginia at eight-thirty.
K's Eagle Project, as you may have supposed from the subject, was to bridge a small creek. It took place at a to-be campsite owned by a local school and set about halfway between Winchester and Romney, not far from Hanging Rock. Incidentally, this also meant not far from the Hanging Rock Cafe, which (fortunately) proved to be one of the finest country-style dining establishments I have ever had the pleasure to eat food at. (You could tell them that the friend of the kid who returned the spoon that the bald French guy accidentally pocketed after buying coffee sent you, but I doubt they remember us.) The bridge itself was halfway done when we arrived - the platform was laid down across three tree trunks, and two of the end posts were set in the ground. So when we arrived - about 11:20 a.m. - we set to putting in the two posts at the other end and the posts along the sides so as to make the handrails.
Around 7 o'clock, most of the volunteers left, leaving K, K's dad, M, and Mr. S to continue trying to get the two new end posts to set solidly in the ground. An hour later, after pounding about fifty pounds of rock practically into gravel at the base of each hole, we called it a day and left to eat at the cafe before bed. At night it poured.
We rose about seven, eight o'clock the next morning, to get working at finishing the handrails and adding additional posts to secure them in place. Around twelve, we declared the bridge finished for the nonce and began to pack up. Two o'clock we were heading home. About six o'clock K's mom dropped me off at my house again.
Yeah, that was a tiring weekend.
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