Bog Slogging

So it's summer you know. Earlier in the season I thought perhaps I would dance from sheer joy after seeing the first firefly, but now I have beheld it and the joy turned out to be a hold-your-breath-in-amazement type of silent moment, all still.

That wasn't what I was going to write. But somehow it Came. (said Pooh, humbly.)

This was what I was going to write.


This afternoon my father and my sister and two of my brothers and I sallied forth to slog a bog. Or slush through one. Or goulash through one.  (We were trying to come up with a word that captured the peculiar slurping sound one's boots make in a bog...)

Here are some Bog Observations rescued from my notebook which, although nearly submerged in seeping brown water at one point in time today  *ahem* , is still legible.

Bog Observation #21.
(they begin at number 21 just because I happened to like that number at the moment)
Beware pitcher plants; moss sometimes surrounds them so that they are transformed into old wells whose covers have rotted off. It would be terrifyingly simple to fall down one.

#22
Me: Here be Dragons.  RUNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!
J: As if you could in this sphagnum and these boots...

#23
"Never set down your waterbottle, it may disappear." -N, upon seeing me snatch mine from a certain watery grave

#24
"It's hot, and it's warm, and there's often this sinking feeling." -W, upon being asked to describe the experience of bog-slogging

#25
"It's wearying to have to dig your boots out each step..." -J, after reaching down and hauling herself out of a particularly murky spot

#26
"You have to be optimistic when you're in a bog, otherwise you keep getting these sinking feelings..." -N,

*you will notice a theme here*


27
"It's a good thing I kept my optimism up, otherwise I might've sunk for sure that time."  -N


#28
"Bog-logs are awesome!"  -J

#29
"But if the log rolls over we'll all be dead..." -J


#30
Me:  OWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!
N: Did a rattlesnake get you????
Me: No, it was a stick.
N: Those are dangerous.


#31
Me:  Which way are we going?
N: That way.
Me: Oh.
N: Actually, I should be more specific. We're going in a southwest direction.
N: Now we're going at a south southwesterly type of angle...
Me: Oh.

*a little bit later, said in a faintly Australian accent*

#32
"Heah's a fahct which cahn be eNAWMously helpful; ferns always point North. Or South. Or East. Or West."   -N


#33
"I love goulash." -W, after a juicy, slurping step


#34
"This swamp bugs me!" -N


#35
Me: You sound like a moose.
W: BLAH.

*I was actually referring to the generous way in which he crashed through ferns and brush*



#36
"If you wear huge boots in the swamp, take them off in the woods and go stocking-footed to save your blisters..." -J


#37
N: Where are they going?
Me: Toward the swamp. Daddy can't stay out of it.
N: Yeah, bogs attract Dad as easily as they attract bugs.




We kind of lost track of time. The remaining two Observations are from our speedy trip towards home.



#38
"Going to church, late, in clean clothes?! Where's the adventure in that???" -W, during our discussion of whether we should go straight to church (muddy as we were) or stop at home and change first


#39
"Stealing wood is more of a Tuesday thing..." -N

*I really have no idea where that came from*



These are all very scientific observations. Consider yourself fully enlightened as to what one might encounter while alternately wading through, falling into, splashing about in, exploring and/or otherwise disappearing into:

A Bog.