macaronimaniac: If a Jew Shmears in the Woods, You Know You Will Hear About It

Overheard on the McKenzie River last weekend:

You know how when you're scaling fish . . . began Nate.

I'm a Jewish woman I interrupted, so unless what you mean by scaling fish is "weighing the lox from the deli case to see if you have a quarter pound or maybe closer to a half pound," I have absolutely no idea what you could be talking about.

Yes, it's true. When I go to the country (as I noted to our hosts before departure, in my tribe "the country" is defined as any place a hot pastrami sandwich cannot readily be purchased, a definition that I hold to even though as a confirmed pescetarian, I last ate pastrami during the Carter presidency), I should be packing a Nature-to-Yiddish dictionary.

Where I'm from, "going for a float" involves root beer, and not a trailer hitch.

Nevertheless, I do have certain skills I bring to the great outdoors. After all, anyone who was raised at Loehmann's can hunt-and-gather with the best of them.

That's why I hunted up some habanero pepper at the grocery store, then gathered some vodka with which to infuse it, all before leaving Portland.

Because although this is an inspiring vista, complete with unbelievably rich and beautiful hues:

So is this:

Not to mention this:

Just be glad you weren't on hand for the raising and lowering of the flag out at Camp Kiltowski.

Anyway, we did have a lovely time, even if I felt very inadequate as hostess-with-the-utmostest Pat was pointing out flora and fauna and all that other nature crap that I can never remember.

At least anyone who's spent as much time weighing a shmear (aka scaling fish) as I have can tell a bagel . . .