sand sculpting
(left to right: Bunny, Mo, Mommy,
Priss, Squeak…Rocky, Steampunk;
on the bank…Piko the Peke-a-poo)
Favorite spot on the creek was “posted” and entrance blocked, so we wasted at least an hour and a half scouting another. Ended up barreling through the woods to create a NEW path. Cost the van a huge scratch on the front bumper (when we had to use the truck to push it over a mound), long piece of plastic knocked off the underside, and an even more messed up alignment.
Squeak and Mo weren’t quite over whatever it was they had, and we all suffered for it in a big way. Still, for all the “issues,” the gnats and horseflies and wasps, the draining heat, damaged vehicles, random gunshots within a quarter-mile, and the non-compatible air mattress pump converter, I don’t regret going. None of us do. It was what camping should be–adventurous, tough, unpredictable, and relaxing at the same time.
Through the course of it, I discovered a new art medium…sand sculpture. I remember building sand castles and such as a kid, but I never approached sand sculpting with any real purpose or vision before. Sitting next to the kids and their “Super-Erosion Experiments,” I was compelled to create. Samples of what came out…
Sand Sculpture Album on Picasa
The best part of the trip was searching for petrified wood. Found a whole plastic tub full of small pieces, shards and splinters, and a handful of pieces as large as a hand. Different grains, colors, textures. They’re going into the rock tumbler soon, but it’ll be about a month or so before we know what they’ll look like polished. Tumbling is a slow, multi-phased process. It’s worth the wait, though. Will have the kids make a before-and-after scrapbook.
Worst of it was the sunburn. We all look like boiled crawfish. Priss got the worst of it, a big ‘X’ on her upper back. The worst of me is my lower back, because that’s the part that faced the sun the majority of the time I was either bent over the bank sculpting, or bent down over the creek hunting for petrified wood. Guess one coat of that sunscreen spray won’t cut it next time.
Oh…and the spritzers were a lifesaver. Yes, Mom knows best (sometimes).
