Shit in Woods Goes Gross to Nightmare

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What Is Vandwelling?

Martin of Van Life Crisis does an excellent job of defining and describing vandwelling. I couldnta done it better myself.

Wolf Shit Found on the Keweenaw Peninsula

Camping on the Keweenaw Peninsula of Michigan, I found this old scat. Seems to be made up of deer hair. Could it be from a gray wolf?

I think it fucking could be! They got 'em up here, in spades. Whadda you think? Look at this gray wolf chart and tell me.

If it's not from a wolf, it's from one hell of a big coyote. For sure. And that don't give me comfort none.

I got Ms. Barkley and The Gimp keeping their doggy ears open. We don't want no trouble. 8o

Are the Pasties All That's Fresh!?

What a weird goddamned way to promote your strip club!? I hope the pasties aren't all that's fresh! Just sayin' ...

Haha! Fooled ya! No, this is a sign for a roadside place selling Cornish pasties (PAAS-teez). Saw it yesterday in Michigan's Upper Peninsula.

Pasties are a meal in a turnover originating in Cornwall, UK. The UP is big mining country, and shitloads of Cornish miners emigrated there a long time ago. Pasty love is their legacy.

In Michigan, they usually fill pasties with chopped beef, potato, carrots, onion, and rutabaga. Kinda like a hash. If you don't want to eat it plain, they'll give you ketchup or gravy.

In Vanholio's experience, most cultures have something like a pasty, lunch you can carry in your pocket. The Latin Americans have empanadas. The Chinese have pork dumplings. The Indians and Pakis have samosas.

I ate that pasty in the photo by the way. And that's why I'm a fatass.

Fresh, Fried Trout Cures Fish Phobia!

How did Michigan's Upper Peninsula fishermen undo my lifelong fish hatred? Let me tell you how they learned this vandweller that pan-fried brook trout rocks ...

But first, let me tell you how my fish-eating phobia got started.

When Vanholio was a little boy, the other kids in preschool scared the fucking snot out of him by telling him about "Jaws," the movie. It scared our little hero so much that, according to Mama Vanholio, he refused to eat tuna, go to the shore, or even take a bath ... just in case a shark swam up the drain pipe. He lost his taste for fish along the way.

(Vanholio *is* a fan of eating "fish tacos." Only when fresh.)

Vanholio was so terrorized, even as an adult, he'd freak and get out of the water if he even saw fish swimming too close to him. That's in fresh water. You can imagine at the seashore! Pathetic. Who knew our hero was such a pussy?! How can he brave living in a van, down by the river?

As far as *eating* fish, he'd try it now and then. Long John Silver's deep fried and salted fish was OK at times. He even got back to canned tuna, with lots of mayo and onion. But if it tasted the least bit fishy, forget it. Fuck salmon!

Sad, sad Vanholio was missing out on life's pleasures. ...

Then a few days ago, I pulled into a campsite by a small, black river here in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. I got to know a quad of four retired guys up here trout fishing for the week. They invited me for dinner: Fresh, fried trout. I didn't want to refuse, figured I'd just choke the shit down and smile.

There was fresh beer in the deal, after all!

But what the hell do you know?! That damned fish, fresh from the river and fried up with a salty, spicy cornmeal coating is pretty good! Vanholio ate three bigguns! And let me tell you, the crispy, baconey tails are the best fucking part!

Now, if I can only muster the courage to swim with them trout, I might become a van living man after all ... Or else, they might bite off my penis, thinking it's a worm. But that's a whole other phobia ...