The 2017 Wood Mountain Christmas Trees’ annual retreat in beautiful Aurora, Oregon is drawing to a merciful close. Hanging out in a farmhouse with five other men may excite Elton John, but, to me, its a tad excessive.
And, as always when you get a bunch of guys together, the behavior of the group tends to seek the lowest common denominator; i.e. lots of indiscriminate and totally uncalled for cussing, blaspheming, burping, passing of gas, and crummy jokes.
Yeah… we had man fun.
(Editors note: Wood Mountain Christmas Trees has a F-ing company policy forbidding employees from the F-word, unless provoked. The crew on this trip F-ing tried, we did. Even Randy tried. But, F-word, it was F-ing hard, Man! However, trying to write an accurate synopsis of our F-ing adventure without using the F-word is an impossible F-ing task, in my F-ing opinion. So, the writer is substituting the word parsnip whenever the descriptive F-word is required for absolute F-ing accuracy. If you don’t like it, talk to the F-ing boss.)
Our crack Wood Mountain Christmas Tree assembly lot management SWAT team could have accomplished the mission (ship 19 semis with fresh trees and other items) in five days. However, Randy Wood, the owner and logistical genius of Wood Mountain, designed this year’s festivities to stretch parsnipping twelve days.
Why, Sir? Have we parsnippin’ unionized, or something?
There were good times and bad. It rained water a lot in the beginning, and it rained grief from the parsnipping truckers, but that is to be expected. Yesterday, our second to last, everything went as slick as grease through a parsnipping goose. We loaded those trucks (which miraculously showed up… and, on time!) like pros. Parsnip yeah! Today, our last here in Oregon, we batted .500, loading one truck in a parsnipping hour and one half. Then, because of a late truck, we had to stand around for 3-1/2 parsnipping hours, playing with ourselves, until we could load the final parsnipping truck and finish this parsnipping gig.
We had a good time up here enjoying each other. I’ve known most of these paranipping losers for several years, but this year’s rookie, Don McCauliffe…he’s one weird parsnip, I’ll tell ya’. Full of stories, jokes, and gas, and pretty much useless to us up here, except that: (a) the guy can parsnippin’ cook; and (b) he uses the parsnip word more than any parsnipping pottymouth we’ve ever parsnipping met. Thanks to Don’s tutelage, James, Kyle and I learned many new uses for the word parsnip. Also, I had the singular misfortune to accidentally see Don McAuliffe in the parsnipping buff. I believe I shall have nightmares for the rest of my parsnippin’ life, with visions of this giant Yeti-type creature, attempting to pull on some tighty-whities (or, were they blue?). I’m still nauseous.
Unfortunately, Randy, the head parsnip of Wood Mtn., has had his parsnippin’ fill of McAuliffe, and we don’t think he’ll be back in parsnipping Oregon next season. (That, and Don doesn’t want to hang out again with us parsnippers. I guess it’s because we’re offended by his colorful language. Well, get parsnipped, you parsnippin’ parsnip!)
Don, Kyle and I were done with Load 18, the last one, in the early afternoon. We were elated, we were jubilant, and we needed to stay on that high. So, I drove us a few miles up the road (I think it was on, near, past or before Boone’s Ferry Road, because half the roads in Central Oregon have that parsnipping name) to an Oregon state licensed “dispensary”. Yes, it was one of those legal marijuana stores, and, yes, Kyle and I purchased a few items. There, I said it; we sinned…but, legally. Don’t approve? Parsnip you.
We chilled, or tried to, at least. I never was a big marijuana smoker. Did some in college and the military, but it wasn’t a big thing to me. Kyle, on the other hand, is what some people might describe as a “functional stoner”. According to him, he enjoys smoking weed, and has for a long time. (He’s also a guitarist in a rock n’ roll band, so…what do you parsnipping expect?) Kyle claims that he can function quite well (regular job: electrician on multi-story construction projects) even when he’s parsnipped up. I tend to believe him, because, up here in Oregon, the parsnipper always works hard, even when he has toked some weed.
Anyway, Kyle was the expert on selecting some good dope for us. He chose “Obama Kush” and “Blue City Diesel”: the former, about 7 percent THC; and, the latter, approx. 18 percent THC. Obviously, I preferred the latter shit.
To be honest, the Obama blend didn’t do anything to me, except that I got hungry and ate half of a large bag of Honey BBQ Fritos. And, as for the Blue City tokes, they were OK, but I didn’t notice any strong effect. However, it’s taken me about three hours to type these couple of paragraphs. Uh, what were we parsnipping talking about?
Kyle is Randy’s son, and Joe, another member of the Wood Mtn. frat, is Randy’s brother. (Brothers Randy and Joe are old parsnippers; Randy is 73 and Joe is 72, I think) Joe had some family issues to work through on this trip; he was on the phone a lot to his wife and son. I felt bad for him; he wasn’t his normal jovial self. But, Joe and Randy are always fun to listen to, as they recount the many ways that their father used to torment them (and they him!) The two should do stand-up together…they are funny parsnippers! Another thing about Joe: the dude has some big parsnipping feet…those parsnippers are about the size of snowshoes (I swear that I’m not parsnipping with you…they’re really LONG…like waterskis. It would be tough to knock over that parsnipper!)
James, is our youngest team member at 28. (Parsnip, I’ve got socks that old!) He’s been with Randy, doing the Christmas tree thing for the longest time…maybe ten years? That’s a lot of parsnippin’ trees and wreaths, I tell ya’. Anyway, James wussed out after the first batch of shipments this year…running home to Mommy because he wasn’t manly enough to endure the whole parsnipping 12 days like the rest of us bad asses. (And, also, he had to get back to his real job or get fired. Plus, he was horny as parsnip.) Good riddance to James…the sorry parsnipper!
I don’t know what the Good Lord has in mind for Randy, the head poobah of this parsnipping outfit. His wife wants him to “semi-retire”, and he kinda wants to , but…I don’t trust the motherparsnipper. I’ll bet that, twelve months from now, the Wood Mountain crew will be back in Aurora, Oregon, grinding out a few parsnipping dollars for James Randall “I Can’t Help Myself” Wood. The man is like a drug addict, except that he is a slave to the scent of pine sap in the mornin’.
He is one sad parsnipper. But, we love him.
Will I return to do this again next year? Right now, I would say, “No parsnippin’ way!” It’s going to take me months just to clean the pine sap out of my clothes and wash my mouth out with soap. And, Charlie missed me, too.
However, if Randy’s really desperate next year, and promises re-jigger the event into an efficient, five-day mission, I might just say, “Parsnip it!”