Getting old is no picnic, especially when you spent your younger years being stupid. Years of stress, strain, and misuse take their toll on a body. Right now that toll is making itself known with some extreme lower back pain.
Started about two weeks ago, and is only now starting to get a bit better. (I'm down to two or three tooth gritting episodes per day). It's been bad enough to keep me off the river, off the streams, and it's even kept me from running the dogs and if I don't run the dogs you know I'm a hurting puppy! (Pun intended). Back pain is especially bothersome because other people have the tendency to laugh at you. I don't know why someone yelling out in pain when they bend over or get in or out of a chair seems so funny, but I know it does because I've laughed at some of my friends who were in the same boat as I currently am. Anyhow, the doc says I may have injured my back sometime in my younger days. Gee, I wonder when could that have happened?
Like maybe while we were building our first cabin? We bought the land in October and wanted to have a cabin we could use by deer season. Shouldn't be a problem right? Well maybe, if we didn't also have 40-plus-hour-a-week jobs. Anyhow, our cabin site didn't really have a road to it. We simply cut down some trees and called it a road. No stones, no shale, just a path through the woods almost wide enough to get a pickup truck through, when you could get a truck up the steep hill to the building site, which was only about 30 percent of the time. All this meant we carried a gas refrigerator, a combination gas/coal kitchen stove, and a whole lot of building material up that hill on our (at the time) young strong backs. It was not a wise thing to do but it did give our camp it's name. After one particularly hard trek up to the camp carrying a couple hundred pounds each, someone remarked, "Boy! That hill is a killer!!" Hence, "Killer Hill Kamp."