ginkgo

The ginkgo tree also known as the maidenhair tree is a unique species of tree with no known trees that are genetically close. The tree itself is also considered a living fossil, it predates 270 million years ago, to which carbon dating places the closest visible relative. Today the tree is known for its medicinal purposes with easing dementia symptoms, enhancing memory, and alleviating stress. The tree actually has two different sexes, there are male and female tree and it reproduces through pollination of cones. Being deciduous, the tree looses its leaves in the fall, and as they change they become bright yellow and slightly orange depending on the sex. The tree itself is slow growing and can be cultivated in homes for a few years, before needing transplanted outside and will need to be planted early fall when transplanting. The tree when cultivated inside needs little fertilization and lots of light, and will most likely not completely shed its leaves, though care will need to be taken during the winter to avoid over watering and will need to be planted early fall when transplanting. 

campfire stories - backseat maniac

Happy Halloween everyone! In honor of it being the scariest month of the year, we will be be bring to you 30 days of campfire stories. Some are old, some are newer. I hope you enjoy. 

Backseat Maniac

retold by unknown

ultimate camp resource

There's a girl driving along I-70 on the way back to Colorado after visiting her relatives in Illinois. It's about 1:00 am and it starts raining when she realizes she's almost out of gas. She sees a sign for a gas station about 3 miles ahead and breaths a sigh of relief. But when she gets there she sees it's one of those old run down family-owned gas stations. She's scared to stop but she really has no other choice. As she pulls in an old man with a disfigured faces comes running through the rain. He puts the pump in the tank and asks for her credit card. She hands it to him over the top of the window and he runs back inside.

After a few seconds he comes back out and tells the girl she will have to come inside, her card has been denied. Reluctantly, she walks inside. The old man grabs her and tries to tell her something but she hits him with a can of oil sitting on the counter. She runs back to her car and takes off with the old man screaming and flailing his arms at her. After driving for a few miles she turns on the radio and starts to relax. As she looks in the rear-view mirror, she sees someone pop up in the back seat holding an axe above their head. It's the last thing she ever sees. Apparently, the old man at the gas station was trying to warn her. 

wild nothing

The moniker Wild Nothing is held by musician Jack Tatum, who started his career in Blacksburg, Va in 2009. His music is based in dreamscape story telling, that stays upbeat and symphonic. The songs never falter, they stay constant in beat, and only pause in the beginning and the end, as if there is always an intro and outro, literally introducing another chapter. Find out more at at their public myspace page.

campfire stories - ghost handprints

Happy Halloween everyone! In honor of it being the scariest month of the year, we will be be bring to you 30 days of campfire stories. Some are old, some are newer. I hope you enjoy. 

Ghost Handprints

A Texas Ghost Story 

retold by S. E. Schlosser

American Folklore

My wife Jill and I were driving home from a friend's party late one evening in early May. It was a beautiful night with a full moon. We were laughing and discussing the party when the engine started to cough and the emergency light went on. We had just reached the railroad crossing where Villamain Road becomes Shane Road. According to local legend, this was the place where a school bus full of children had stalled on the tracks. Everyone on board the bus had been killed by an oncoming freight train. The ghosts of the children were reported to haunt this intersection and were said to protect people from danger.

Not wanting a repeat of the train crash, I hit the gas pedal, trying to get our car safely across the tracks before it broke down completely. But the dad-blamed car wouldn't cooperate. It stalled dead center on the railroad tracks.

As if that weren't enough, the railroad signals started flashing and a bright light appeared a little ways down the track, bearing down fast on our car. I turned the key and hit the gas pedal, trying to get the car started.

"Hurry up, Jim! The train's coming," my wife urged, as if I didn't hear the whistling blowing a warning.

I broke out into a sweat and tried the engine again. Nothing.

"We have to get out!" I shouted to my wife, reaching for the door handle.

"I can't," Jill shouted desperately. She was struggling with her seat belt. We'd been having trouble with it recently. She'd been stuck more than once, and I'd had to help her get it undone.

I threw myself across the stick-shift and fought with the recalcitrant seat belt. My hands were shaking and sweat poured down my body as I felt the rumble of the approaching train. It had seen us and was whistling sharply. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder. The engineer was trying to slow down, but he was too close to stop before he hit us. I redoubled my efforts.

Suddenly, the car was given a sharp shove from behind. Jill and I both gasped and I fell into her lap as the car started to roll forward, slowly at first, then gaining speed. The back end cleared the tracks just a second before the train roared passed. As the car rolled to a stop on the far side of the tracks, the engineer stuck his head out the window of the engine and waved a fist at us; doubtless shouting something nasty at us for scaring him.

"Th..that was close," Jill gasped as I struggled upright. "How did you get the car moving?"

"I didn't," I said. "Someone must have helped us."

I jumped out of the door on the driver's side of the car and ran back to the tracks to thank our rescuer. In the bright moonlight, I searched the area, looking for the person who had pushed our car out of the path of the train. There was no one there. I called out several times, but no one answered. After a few minutes struggle with her seatbelt, Jill finally freed herself and joined me.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"There is no one here," I replied, puzzled.

"Maybe he is just shy about being thanked," Jill said. She raised her voice. "Thank you, whoever you are," she called.

The wind picked up a little, swirling around us, patting our hair and our shoulders like the soft touch of a child's hand. I shivered and hugged my wife tightly to me. We had almost died tonight, and I was grateful to be alive.

"Yes, thank you," I repeated loudly to our mystery rescuer.

As we turned back to our stalled vehicle, I pulled out my cell phone, ready to call for a tow truck. Beside me, Jill stopped suddenly, staring at the back of our car.

"Jim, look!" she gasped.

I stared at our vehicle. Scattered in several places across the back of our car were several glowing handprints. They were small handprints; the kind that adorned the walls of elementary schools all over the country. I started shaking as I realized the truth; our car had been pushed off the tracks by the ghosts of the schoolchildren killed at this location.

Te wind swept around us again, and I thought I heard an echo of childish voices whispering 'You're welcome' as it patted our shoulders and arms. Then the wind died down and the handprints faded from the back of the car.

Jill and I clung together for a moment in terror and delight. Finally, I released her and she got into the car while I called the local garage to come and give us a tow home.

reclaimed wood

Autumn is the season for the leaves to fall off the trees and the barren wood starts to show on the knotty deciduous arbors. As this occurs the darker or reclaimed woods become more popular in peoples homes. The urge to bring the final throws of the outdoors inside ramps up and makes the home feel warmer. What better way to actually warm up the space, than that of the vintage look from reclaimed woods. When mixing and matching the more contrast the better, this lends to a romantic feel of a rustic vibe. Woods that are similar lend to a more refined look. A few stand out pieces of the season that also bring out slight industrial look come from Koff Designs and Urban Wood Goods. Also, take a second to look at another piece on UWG. 

market

West Elm has been around for almost 10 years and has been reinventing itself ever since. And as of this week it has taken another leap forward with its first spin off brand, Market. The concept takes the idea of the stylized home to the next level. From vintage scissors, denim aprons, and retro fridges the brand is taking the rustic handmade qualities of an era past into modern homes. The aesthetics loan their beauty to enameled plates, hardwoods, bone handles, and burlaps. What is amazing beyond the qualities, are the price points, the products are not only curated well, but they are priced incredibly well. Market is currently available in Brooklyn and westelm.com

campfire stories - the bloodstain

Happy Halloween everyone! In honor of it being the scariest month of the year, we will be be bring to you 30 days of campfire stories. Some are old, some are newer. I hope you enjoy. 

The Bloodstain

A California Ghost Story

retold by S. E. Schlosser

American Folklore

The Phelps place was an old, abandoned property with a monstrous, decrepit Victorian house that was supposed to be haunted. It should have been a good resting place for the local deer hunters, but they would not go near it. A few that tried came away before midnight with tales of ghostly thumping noises, gasps, moans, and a terrible wet bloodstain that appeared on the floor of the front porch and could not be wiped away.

Phelps was an Englishman who had purchased land some 20 miles off the Mendocino coast in the 1880s. He had built a huge, fancy Victorian house all covered with gingerbread trimmings and surrounded by lovely gardens. When everything was arranged to his liking, he sent out party invitations to everyone within messenger range. It was the biggest social event of the year, with music and dancing and huge amounts of food. Sawhorse tables were set up with refreshments, and drinks were set out on the front porch. People came from miles around. The only one missing was old man McInturf's son-in-law. They had had a terrible fight that afternoon, and the boy had stalked off in a rage, threatening to get even with the old man.

Around midnight, the musicians took a recess and old man McInturf went out on the front porch with some friends. Suddenly there came the thunder of hooves rushing up the lane. A cloaked figure rode towards the lantern-lit porch. McInturf put down his drink. "That will be my son-in-law," he told his friends as he went down the steps. The cloaked figure stopped his horse just outside the pool of lantern-light. There was a sharp movement and two loud shots from a gun. Old man McInturf staggered backwards, shot in the throat and the chest. The cloaked man wheeled his horse and fled down the lane as friends ran to the assistance of the old man.

They laid McInturf down on the porch. He was bleeding heavily and they were afraid to move him much. There was some talk of fetching the doctor, but everyone knew it was too late. So much blood was pouring from the old man's wounds that it formed a pool underneath his head. McInturf coughed, once, twice; a hideous, gurgling, strangling sound that wrenched at the hearts of all who heard it. Then he died.

McInturf's body was laid out on the sofa, and the once-merry guests left in stricken silence. The servants came and wiped the red-brown bloodstain off the floorboards. The next day, a wagon was brought to the front of the house and McInturf's body was carried out onto the porch. As the men stepped across the place where McInturf had died, blood began to pool around their boots, forming a wet stain in exactly the pattern that had been wiped up by the servants the night before. The men gasped in fear. One of them staggered and almost dropped the body. They hurriedly laid McInturf in the back of the wagon, and a pale Phelps ordered the servants to clean up the fresh bloodstain.

From that day forward, the Phelps could not keep that part of the porch clean. Every few weeks, the damp bloodstain would reappear. They tried repainting the porch a few times, but the bloodstain would always leak through. In the county jail, McInturf's son-in-law died of a blood clot in the brain. A few months later, one of the Phelps servants went mad after seeing a "terrible sight" that made his head feel like it was going to exploded. Folks started saying the house was being haunted by the ghost of McInturf, seeking revenge. The property was resold several times but each resident was driven out by the terrible, gasping ghost of McInturf reliving his last moments and by the bloodstain that could not be removed from the porch. The house was eventually abandoned.

chukka

A modern boot for the modern man. The chukka was originally designed for usage by the British Armed Forces when the they were stationed in Northern Africa. The soldiers complained about two issues with their original shoe; 1. The weight was too heavy of the standard boot, and they would sink in the loose sand, prohibiting movement. 2. The boots were too hot, too much original insulation due to the use of heavy graded leathers caused feet to quickly overheat. This information came back with samples of what the current insurgency was using. They reverse engineered and retrofitted a few models to create the chukka that is known today. The lighter weight leather is usually unlined or has a simple cloth lining to help clean sand out of boots, and lowered the heat insulation of the foot. The sole was changed to a hard-wearing crepe sole, that lowered the weight of the shoe and improved grip in loose sand. The name of the shoe is derived from the game of polo where the periods of play are divided into chukkas. Some current seasonal favorites are Ben Sherman, Clarks, and UGG.

the great gatsby

It had been a while since I had read the Great Gatsby written by F. Scott Fitzgerald, though it was worth the reread. The book is written in the eyes of Nick Carraway whom moves from the Midwest to a spot in Long Island during the Roaring Twenties. Nick is introduced to an elite social class by his second cousin Daisy and her husband Tom. The book peers into the richest upper crust of society though what is considered Nick's "innocent and harmless" midwestern view point. The book is filled with drinking, debauchery, social espionage and intrigue. As the book does center around their gathering over a summer, the book does finish in mid Autumn which adds to its timeliness.  

old fashioned

Seriously easy, seriously good. You cannot go wrong with a great fall drink like the old fashioned. The recipe can even be made ahead of time, and served in a large pitcher or punch bowl for a party (which if you do, to bring out the orange flavor you can serve with orange sliced in circles). 

Ingredients:

1 sugar cube 

3 dashes angostura bitters

club soda

2 ounces bourbon

cherry (optional)

Instructions:

Place the sugar cube in an old fashioned glass. Wet it down with the bitters. Add a splash of club soda. Crush moistened sugar cube with muddler. rotate the glass to coat the bottom quarter with the sugar. Add large ice cube (larger the better). Pour in bourbon. Serve with stirrer (will be needed as sugar may settle). 

barbershop

As the sign says, Remember to visit your local barber shop. As the Rustic Camp knows, the life of the adventurer sometimes doesn't allow for time to look nice, but sometimes it is absolutely needed. The concept of the barbershop has been around for ages, barber, which is latin for beard, was the center for mens grooming for ages. The barber was the person whom you would see not just for grooming needs, but ailments as well. The barber would need to be proficient in minor surgery, dentistry, and leaching, they would even be higher paid if they were skilled in many crafts. Due to their expertise in many facets this made them invaluable to British navel fleets, that would insure that there was a barber on most of their boats, and two or more on their flagships. Today, you obviously would not go to the barber for these problems, as they are skilled mainly in cosmetology. Now, the ability to have a similar experience at a barbershop can be in your home. Many brands recently have upstarted the trend of the experience at home such as, The Art of Shaving and Classic Shaving. 

further

Wash your filthy hands! In my line of work outside of the rustic camp I spend lots of time working with my hands. Which causes me to wash them... A LOT. This can easily destroy my hands, causing cracking, drying, and pain. I recently have found Further, a sustainable brand that actually makes a rich hand soap and lotion that will leave your hands clean and moisturized without being greasy, which is ironic since the soap is made from the left over grease from restaurants and is the making of biofuel. The soaps and lotions have fragrance from bergamot, olive and exotic grasses which are masculine and clean.

penguin prison

Dramatic/Party? Penguin Prison is known for its wonderful remixes and its ability to produce a beat. The band released its album  "Penguin Prison" in 2011, the first album that actually featured original vocals. The subject matter in most of the songs is actually a bit gritty, you can hear the angst in his voice that he holds back on, which works perfectly against the rather pop back ground. 

campfire stories - the dance

Happy Halloween everyone! In honor of it being the scariest month of the year, we will be be bring to you 30 days of campfire stories. Some are old, some are newer. I hope you enjoy. 

The Dance

retold by Unknown

Ultimate Camp Resource

The girl hurried through her schoolwork as fast as she could. It was the night of the high school dance, along about 70 years ago in the town of Kingsville, Texas. The girl was so excited about the dance. She had bought a brand new, sparkly red dress for the dance. She knew she looked smashing in it. It was going to be the best evening of her life.

Then her mother came in the house, looking pale and determined.

"You are not going to that dance," her mother said.

"But why?" the girl asked her mother.

"I've just been talking to the preacher. He says the dance is going to be for the devil. You are absolutely forbidden to go," her mother said.

The girl nodded as if she accepted her mother's words. But she was determined to go to the dance. As soon as her mother was busy, she put on her brand new red dress and ran down to the K.C. Hall where the dance was being held.

As soon as she walked into the room, all the guys turned to look at her. She was startled by all the attention. Normally, no one noticed her. Her mother sometimes accused her of being too awkward to get a boyfriend. But she was not awkward that night. The boys in her class were fighting with each other to dance with her.

Later, she broke away from the crowd and went to the table to get some punch to drink. She heard a sudden hush. The music stopped. When she turned, she saw a handsome man with jet black hair and clothes standing next to her.

"Dance with me," he said.

She managed to stammer a "yes", completely stunned by this gorgeous man. He led her out on the dance floor. The music sprang up at once. She found herself dancing better than she had ever danced before. They were the center of attention.

Then the man spun her around and around. She gasped for breath, trying to step out of the spin. But he spun her faster and faster. Her feet felt hot. The floor seemed to melt under her. He spun her even faster. She was spinning so fast that a cloud of dust flew up around them both so that they were hidden from the crowd.

When the dust settled, the girl was gone. The man in black bowed once to the crowd and disappeared. The devil had come to his party and he had spun the girl all the way to hell.

winter session

Of to work we go. With that we need to bring our lives with us. We as a society are engrained to bring everything we think that we would need every where. And Since we travel with our bags all the time, why not do so with a satchel that will hold just that. Winter Session is a upstart from the north side of Chicago and shows their wares in many outlets across the US. All of their totes are made from Ecotec untreated cotton-blend canvas that is 75-90% post industrial recycled content. Their leather is full-grain lester from Horween in Chicago. The remaining contents are sourced with the utmost care to ensure that they are quality. If you are in Chicago check them out on Broadway at Haymaker.

campfire stories - knife in the briefcase

Happy Halloween everyone! In honor of it being the scariest month of the year, we will be be bring to you 30 days of campfire stories. Some are old, some are newer. I hope you enjoy. 

The Knife in the Breifcase

retold by "Ann M."

13 Tales to Tell After Dark

About

One Summer day in Southampton, New York, a woman pulled into a gas station. As the attendant pumped gas, the woman told him she was in a hurry to pick up her daughter, who had just finished an art class in East Hampton.

A very-well-dressed man walked over to her car and started talking to her. He explained that his rental car had died, and he needed a ride to East Hampton for an appointment. She said she would be happy to give him a ride. He put his briefcase in the backseat and said he was going to the men's room quickly.

The woman looked at her watch and suddenly panicked. She drove off quickly, having forgotten that the man was coming back to the car for a ride.

She thought nothing of him again until she and her daughter pulled into their driveway. She saw his briefcase and realized she had forgotten him! She opened the briefcase looking for some form of identification so she could notify him about his belongings. Inside she found nothing but a knife and a roll of duct tape!

campfire stories - bride and seek

Happy Halloween everyone! In honor of it being the scariest month of the year, we will be be bring to you 30 days of campfire stories. Some are old, some are newer. I hope you enjoy. 

Bride-and-Seek

retold by "Palm Beach Dude"

13 Tales to Tell After Dark

About

Back in'75 a young couple, both 18, decided to get married right after high school. The father of the bride lived in Palm Beach in a mansion and was able to afford a big wedding for them. To make a long story short, they got married and the wedding was beautiful.

After the wedding they had a big reception in an old building and everyone got pretty drunk. When there were only about 20 people left, the groom decided that they should play hide-and-seek. Everyone agreed and the groom was "it." They all went and hid and the game went on.

After about 20 minutes everyone had been found except the bride. Everyone looked everywhere and tore the whole place apart looking for her. After a few hours the groom was furious, thinking the bride was playing a terrible trick. Eventually, everyone went home.

A few weeks later the groom, having placed a missing persons report, gave up looking for her. Heartbroken, he tried to go on with his life.

Three years later a little old woman was cleaning the place up. She happened to be in the attic and saw an old trunk. She dusted it off, and, out of curiosity, opened it. She screamed at the top of her lungs, ran out of the building and called the police.

Apparently, the bride had decided to hide in the trunk for the game of hide-and-seek. When she sat down, the lid fell, knocking her unconscious and locking her inside. She suffocated after a day or so. When the woman found her, she was rotting, her mouth in the shape of a scream.

umbrella

Rain, Rain go away! Here in Chicago the weather did not stop all day! As the sky was bleak and dreary I couldn't help think about how I needed to upgrade my umbrella. The umbrella dates back to ancient mesopotamia where the umbrella was made from a reed tube and thatching for the shade. The umbrella was eventually turned to canvas, and then later poly vinyl. There is subtle touches that add to the quality of an umbrella; the grip of the handle should be wood, bone, bamboo or resin shaped in a crook for easy latching on an arm when carried. The tube should be graphite, wood, or stainless steel these add to a integrity of the structure. 

campfire stories - no trespassing

Happy Halloween everyone! In honor of it being the scariest month of the year, we will be be bring to you 30 days of campfire stories. Some are old, some are newer. I hope you enjoy. 

No Trespassing

A Texas Scary Story

retold be S.E. Schlosser

American Folklore

 Peggy and her boyfriend Tommy were driving down a lonely stretch of highway at dusk when a thunderstorm came crashing down on them. Tommy slowed the car and they crept their way past a formidable abandoned house. Plastered all over the fences and trees were no trespassing signs. 

A mile past the house, the car hydroplaned. Peggy screamed as the car slid off the road, plunging down into a gully. The car slammed into a large boulder, throwing Peggy violently into the door, before it came to a rest under a pecan tree. Her head banged against the window, and a stabbing pain shot through her shoulder and arm. 

     Tommy turned to her. “Are you all right? You’re bleeding!” 

     “Arm, shoulder.  Feel bad,” Peggy managed to gasp.

     Tommy glanced cautiously at her right arm. “I think your arm is broken,” he said, and he tore a strip off his shirt and pressed it to the cut on her head.   “I’m going to call for help,” he said when it became obvious that the bleeding was not going to stop right away.  But neither of them had their cell phones.

      “That house we just passed will have a phone I can use.” Tommy said. 

     Peggy’s eyes popped wide open at this statement. Despite her pain, she remembered the creepy abandoned house. “Stay here. A . . . car . . . will come,” 

      “I can’t stay, Peggy,” Tommy said, “It could take hours for another car to come, and you‘re losing too much blood.” He tore another strip of his shirt and placed it gently on the cut on her head.  Then he went out and retrieved a couple of blankets from the trunk to cover her with.  “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He raced out into the storm, shutting the dented car door behind him. 

     Peggy drifted in a kind of daze.  Something at the back of her mind was making her uneasy. She slid down on to the floor and put her head on the seat, completely covering herself with the blankets, head and all.  Feeling safer, she allowed the weariness caused by the wounds to take over and fell asleep.

     Peggy wasn’t sure what woke her.  Had a beam of light shown briefly through the blanket?  Did she hear someone curse outside?  She strained eyes and ears, but heard nothing save the soft thudding of the rain, and no light shown through the blanket now.  If Tommy had arrived with the rescue squad, there surely would be noise and light and many voices.  But she heard nothing save the swish of the rain and an occasional thumping noise which she put down to the rubbing of the branches of the pecan tree in the wind.  The sound should have been comforting, but it was not.  Goosebumps crawled across her arms – even the broken one -- and she almost ceased breathing for some time as some deep part of her inner mind instructed her to freeze and not make a sound.  

      She did not know how long fear kept her immobile.  But suddenly the raw terror ceased, replaced by cold shivers of apprehension and a sick coil in her stomach that had nothing to do with her injuries.  Something terrible had happened, she thought wearily, fear adding yet more fatigue to her already wounded body.  Then she scolded herself for a ninny.  It was just her sore head making her imagine things.  Somewhat comforted by this thought, she dozed again, only vaguely aware of a new sound that had not been there before; a soft thud-thud sound as of something gently tapping the roof.  Thud-thud.  Pattering of the rain.  Thud-thud. Silence.  Sometimes she would almost waken and listen to it in a puzzled manner.  Thud-thud.  Patter of rain.  Thud-thud.  Had a branch dislodged from the tree?   

     Peggy wasn’t sure how long she’d been unconscious when she was awakened by a bright light blazing through the window of the car and the sound of male voices exclaiming in horror. A door was wrenched open, and someone crawled inside. She lifted her head and looked up at a young state policeman.

     “Miss, are you all right?” he asked and then turned over his shoulder to call for help. Peggy told the officers her story and begged them to look for Tommy. They deftly avoided answering her and instead called the paramedics. 

     As the paramedics carried her carefully up the slope of the incline, Peggy looked back at the car—and saw a grotesque figure hanging from a branch of the pecan tree.  For a moment, her brain couldn’t decipher what she was seeing in the bright lights of the police car parked at the side of the road.  Then she heard a thud-thud sound as the foot of the figure scraped the top of the totaled car, and she started screaming over and over in horror.  One of the police officers hastened to block her view and a paramedic fumbled for some valium to give her as her mind finally registered what she had seen.  Tommy’s mangled, dead body was hanging from the pecan tree just above the car, and nailed to the center of his chest was a No Trespassing sign.

kaufmann mercantile

Kaufmann Mercantile is a well crafted lifestyle brand, currently located only as an online store at the moment, though I am hoping that soon they will have a brick and mortar. The aesthetic is a return to the 1950's craftsman style, this clearly shows in the fabric choices or the types of the quality crafted items that they have choose to house. A few of my favorite are the nickel plated lunch box and wax canvas lunch box, a humble return to the take your lunch to work (or construction site). I also love the denim apron and the canvas tool bag, which are great gifts for person who loves building things. They have a great selection of quality groceries in the line of syrups, jams, and even lozenges. In theory they are a well crafted mart of quality modern goods that are not terribly priced. 

campfire stories - buried alive

Happy Halloween everyone! In honor of it being the scariest month of the year, we will be be bring to you 30 days of campfire stories. Some are old, some are newer. I hope you enjoy. 

Buried Alive

retold by: David Emery

About

My great-great grandmother, ill for quite some time, finally passed away after lying in a coma for several days. My great-great grandfather was devastated beyond belief, as she was his one true love and they had been married over 50 years. They were married so long it seemed as if they knew each other's innermost thoughts.

After the doctor pronounced her dead, my great-great grandfather insisted that she was not. They had to literally pry him away from his wife's body so they could ready her for burial.

Now, back in those days they had backyard burial plots and did not drain the body of its fluids. They simply prepared a proper coffin and committed the body (in its coffin) to its permanent resting place. Throughout this process, my great-great grandfather protested so fiercely that he had to be sedated and put to bed. His wife was buried and that was that.

That night he woke to a horrific vision of his wife hysterically trying to scratch her way out of the coffin. He phoned the doctor immediately and begged to have his wife's body exhumed. The doctor refused, but my great-great grandfather had this nightmare every night for a week, each time frantically begging to have his wife removed from the grave.

Finally the doctor gave in and, together with local authorities, exhumed the body. The coffin was pried open and to everyone's horror and amazement, my great-great grandmother's nails were bent back and there were bloody scratch-marks on the inside of the coffin.

wenger, swiss army

Adventure needs a tool box. And what better what better way to bring one with you, when it is in the size of a nail file. The Wenger company has been producing the knife in 1893 when the Swiss Army planed to equip their soldiers with a regulation blade in 1886. This contract still holds true as a divided by orders fulfilled evenly between Wenger and Victorinox. Wenger touts overall stability and the everything you need in one place as shown by their knife, The Giant, it is literally any item that you could possibly need a key for at any given time. After U.S. troops were stationed in Switzerland during World War II, they purchased in large quantities, the Swiss Army knife at Post Exchange stores. Bringing the knife home in droves and orders quickly took off. Wenger specializes in three categories: Evolution, The next generation on the traditional model, that has a better grip and is their signature red color; Heritage made from wood and is truest to the original blade, it also tends to be the lightest; Ranger, this has the best grip, tends to be slightly heavier, and hosts more tools that are specified for cutting, camping, and rationed living. 

campfire stories - the grave

Happy Halloween everyone! In honor of it being the scariest month of the year, we will be be bring to you 30 days of campfire stories. Some are old, some are newer. I hope you enjoy. 

The Grave

Ultimate Camp Resource

A young woman lay suffering on her deathbed, her stillborn baby lying against her chest. Her young husband crouched close, stricken with grief. His beautiful wife crooned a lullaby to her dead baby, her voice growing fainter as death drew near. Finally, she looked at her husband and asked him to bury her back East, beside her dead mother. Choked with grief, the young husband agreed.

But after his wife lay still in death, her husband could not bear to be parted from her and their dead child. He had them buried together beneath a lonely pine tree on a gently sloping knoll near their home, where he could visit the grave. As spring drew near, fragrant wildflowers bloomed across the knoll and the small grave.

One night, the husband threw himself across the flower-strewn grave, head buried in his arms as he tried to control his grief. As he lay there, the stillness of the night seemed to deepen. A light breeze tousled his hair and swayed the branches of the pine tree. At that moment, he heard a soft voice crooning a lullaby. He started upright, searching about for his wife. He heard a gurgle from an infant, a happy sound of contentment. Then the breeze died away, and the branches of the pine tree stilled. Then a shining light seemed to descend from the dark sky and hover over the young husband and the small grave under the tree. The husband heard the singing again, and the happy laugh of a small child. And then there was darkness. The husband went home that night with peace in his heart for the first time since the death of his wife.

People say that on dark, summery nights you can still hear the young mother singing a lullaby, and hear the happy chuckles of her tiny child.

duffle coat

The duffle coat originally created by the British Royal Navy for World War I. In World War II there was slight updating to the original design. This update included larger flap pockets, a shorter length, new "walrus tooth" toggles, and pancake hood that sat flatter on the head. The coat was originally designed in camel, which eventually changed colors when popularized, current famous hues include black, yellow and red. Originally the jacket had leather straps that held the toggles, modern versions switch the toggle straps to rope, jute, or faux leather. The fabric on the coat is made of wool crepe and tends to be a lighter weight and roomier for when you need to place a suit under the coat. 

campfire stories - the jack o' lantern

Happy Halloween everyone! In honor of it being the scariest month of the year, we will be be bring to you 30 days of campfire stories. Some are old, some are newer. I hope you enjoy. 

The Jack O' Lantern

Retold by S.E. Schlosser

American Folklore

After a long day of unlucky hunting, I found myself stuck in the middle of the marshlands for the night, without a flashlight or a lantern to guide my stumbling steps. So I settled beside a fallen log to rest until daylight. As I tossed and turned, I recalled the story my great-uncle told me about a ghost that haunted the marshlands.

There was once a man named Jack who was a nasty fellow. He beat his wife and kids and was an all-around bad chap. Jack got worse and worse as the years rolled by. But finally Jack’s body got so wore out that he died. He went up to heaven, but Saint Peter refused to let such a wretched fellow in. Then he went to Hell, but the Devil barred the door as soon as he saw Jack coming and wouldn’t let him in either. “Go away and don’t come back,” the Devil told Jack.

“How am I supposed to get back in the dark?” Jack grumbled. “Give me a lantern.”

So the Devil threw a chunk of molten fire out to Jack, who took it for his lantern and went back to earth, where he wanders forever through the swamps and marshlands of the earth, a bitter spirit whose only delight was in luring the unwary to their doom with his lamp.

At this juncture in my musings, I happened to look out over the marshes and noticed a blinking light in the fog.

“Is that you, Jack O’Lantern?” I called jovially.

“Jack, (jack, jack),” a voice whispered back. I was seriously spooked. I clutched my gun to my chest, the hairs on my arms standing on end. Had that been an echo of my voice, or was someone out here with me?

“Who’s there?” I shouted, trying to sound brave and menacing. I waved my gun around. “Show yourself at once.”

“Jack, (jack, jack)” the voice hissed from a completely different section of the swamp. A light blinked on and then off. On and then off.

Shudders ran up my spine at the sound of that ghastly voice coming from nowhere. I huddled up against the log, wanting something firm at my back. Suddenly, the story of the Jack O’Lantern didn’t seem so funny.

My heart was pounding so hard it made my chest hurt. I strained my ears in the silence that fell over the swamp.

“Jack, (jack, jack)” the voice hissed from somewhere to my left this time. The light blinked on, off, on…I counted ten heartbeats this time before it went off.

The voice sounded closer. I held very still, my instincts screaming at me to hold my breath and not move until the menace had passed. The voice came again, far off to the right. "Jack, (jack, jack)” it hissed. The light came on, off, on…off.

It’s moving away, I thought, relaxing just a bit. Feeling safer. There was a long, long, long silence. Nothing stirred, not the wind in the grass, not the frogs or turtles in the water, not the crickets or night insects.

"Jack, (jack, jack)” the voice hissed softly, right into my ear. And I looked up into the glowing red eyes and twisted face of the Jack O’Lantern.

I screamed, and lashed out at it with my gun. I ran a few steps, tripped and fell over, knocking my head on a sharp stone. For a moment I saw stars, and I felt blood pouring from my scalp. But the Jack O’Lantern was right behind me. I had to get away. I rolled and fell into a deep pool. I plunged underneath the water, flailing desperately against ropelike grasses that tried to keep me down. My head finally burst out of the water, and I gasped desperately for air, treading water as best I could with my trembling limbs and aching head. I heard the creature laugh in the mist.

“Jack, (jack, jack)” the voice hissed delightedly, and the light blinked on, off, on right over my head, blinding my dazed eyes as horror flowed through me and froze my limbs so I could no longer swim. For a long moment, the grotesque face and red eyes of the Jack O’Lantern loomed out of the mist before my petrified gaze.

My head started to swim with pain from my bleeding skull. The evil face above me, lit by its bright light, whirled around and around, growing dimmer as my eyes started to glaze. I was vaguely aware that I should keep swimming, keep trying to make my way to the edge of the pool, but the effort was too much for my suddenly heavy limbs. I barely noticed myself plunging down and down into the watery depths of the pool, too stunned by my injury to fight my way to the surface a second time.

Then there was only darkness, and silence, and a voice hissing in cold triumph: “Jack, (jack, jack).”

rustic brown derby

So delicious, so easy. Perfect for the fall and is a perfect cool version of the Hot Toddy. Most people say a nice hot drink will soothe a sore throat, but sometimes that just wont do. Being that it is so easy to make you can barely fail it. Enjoy! 

The Rustic Brown Derby

Ingredients: 

2 ounces bourbon

2 ounces grapefruit juice

1/2 ounce honey (clover)

Recipe:

Measure all ingredients into a 16 ounce mason jar, fill the rest with ice. Cap with mason lid, and shake well. Remove lid and serve. 

(wondering where that beautiful oaky liquor comes from? check it out on our bourbon post)

lord huron

Lord Huron blends a mix of folk, dream pop, and hindi tones into most of their songs. While residing in California lead singer Benji Schneider went back to his roots in Michigan to visit. While there He established three songs that created his EP Into the Sun. When he came back to L.A. he established the band that would later become Lord Huron. The music is mainly polyrhythmic drums and folk guitars that creates a jam session in each song which becomes a full fledged musical realization. Check them out at Lord Huron.

best made company

Best Made Company has a solid brand mission, to provide customers with the best made quality tools, that provide lasting experiences. Their workshop is in New York where you can visit and try out their product. They also have a retail store in Minnesota that also caters a axe expert and care assistant. The product range is from standard camping accessories that move into small housewares, truly their axe department is what needs to be checked out. For more information check out their website at Best Made Company.

campfire stories - the car wreck

Happy Halloween everyone! In honor of it being the scariest month of the year, we will be be bring to you 30 days of campfire stories. Some are old, some are newer. I hope you enjoy. 

The Car Wreck

The Boy Scout Trail

Did you hear that car? It reminds me of something that happened 2 years ago at this very campground. 

We were sitting around our campfire pretty much like this, but the night was a bit colder and quieter. Suddenly, I heard a car racing down the road over that way followed by a terrible squeeling of tires and a horrendous crash.

I and another adult jumped up, grabbed our flashlights, and ran out to the road to see if anyone needed help. The road out there is very straight for about 2 miles and then takes a sharp corner right by the camp. On that corner, we spotted a car rolled over and smashed against a big oak tree.

Inside the car were four high school kids, all dead. There was nothing we could do so we ran back to the campmaster's cabin and called 911. We then went back to the scene to wait for the ambulance.

When we got there, there was no car, no bodies, nothing except two long tire marks on the road right to where the car had crashed.

Just then, an old man came walking down the road with his dog. He has a farm just on the other side of the road and he had heard the crash also, but he wasn't surprised to see no car. He explained that 25 years ago, the local high school football team had two star players and was favored to win the state championship. Those two boys never gave up - they practiced year round and had made a pact that they would never stop until they were champions. 

The night they won their homecoming game, the two boys and their girlfriends were on their way to the big dance after a celebration party. Going too fast, they wrecked and all four of them were killed right over there.

Every year since then, on the night of homecoming, their ghosts relive the terrible crash. They refuse to give up and admit that they are dead. Sometimes, you can even see them wandering through the woods trying to find their way to the dance. Or, you can hear their low groans as they walk through the night.