Camelot (It's only a model)

I suppose it was a rather impressive stump

There is a place near the south end of Utah Lake called King Arthur’s Round Table. It is an outdoor location where boy scouts can go to pat each other on the back while reciting the scout oath, I believe. It consists of a large wooden stump, as I remember, and does little to preserve itself in the memory of those who visit. I have been there precisely no more than once.

Paul and I went along for a ride with our friend Mary and some other people. We were told that we were going to King Arthur's Round table and we had thoughts of ham and jam and spamalot and other delicacies and wonders that would be very much worth our while. It sounded like an exciting place to go and we were intrigued. I recall that we were listening to Erasure: The Circus as we drove to our destination. Remember that key point. It will come into play later on in this narrative.

We arrived at King Arthur's Round Table and as I think about it, maybe the place is called Camelot and it merely consists of the round table in a field. Which table consists of a stump. OK, we're going with that then: It was called Camelot. We arrived at Camelot and as is probably anticipated after reading this far we remained quite unimpressed. I pressed our hosts for information on Camelot and precisely why I was expected to be impressed, hoping that perhaps it would be revealed that some historical or magical event had taken place here. Alas, it was no more than a stump in a field. Our hosts sat down at the Round Table and talked about how neat this place was while Paul and I went exploring to see if we could find anything to make the trip be less wasteful of our time.

We encountered an irrigation gulley with a wooden log spanning it acting as a bridge. I went across first then picked up a large branch with which to cause Paul's imbalance and potential eventual fall into the ravine. He appreciated and backed off to find a branch of his own to defend himself with. Once he found one it became important to try to dislodge each other from atop the log. With only as much as 5 feet to fall this game was neither dangerous nor long lasting.

We spotted some nearby cows and decided we would approach them and see what events developed. As we neared the cows Paul stepped in a warm, fresh cow pie. Sensing its moistness, he inserted his branch into the cow pie and flicked it upwards in my direction. Goodness rained down upon me. It was my turn to be appreciative. I scooped up a handful of a nearby moist cow pie and hurled it at Paul. While I had several spots of dung spread across much of me, Paul now had a large mass sticking to his shoulder. The appreciation escalated from there and for several minutes we each sought cow pies warmer and fresher than each pie hurled heretofore. It was not long before we were both covered in fresh, minty manure. But even after the cow pie fight, the appreciation was not over.

We returned to our friends at Camelot and explained what the green splotches and stains on our clothing were. Mary was hesitant to allow us back into her car for the trip back home. Even after we agreed to turn our shirts inside out she was not entirely pleased with us. For some reason.

In summary, go to Camelot often and hard.