Plus: A Recreational Product Review
A few weeks ago a friend of mine invited us to a hot dog roast at a property they had access to on the Pack River. The Pack River is a meandering body of water that twists and turns its way through the mountains of the North Idaho Panhandle before emptying into Lake Pend Oreille. Our original hot dog roast date had to be rescheduled, and when our friend asked if Mother's Day was okay for the event, well, you can guess the answer.
She emailed us the new date and time and said she would email the address of the property "at a later date." That email activated my mirth button and I immediately replied that I was super excited to go to my very first "Barn Rave." It is perhaps known to anyone who reads this blog on a frequent basis that I am somewhat of an intelligent donkey at times, AKA a smart Old Testament Equine. I can't help it, that line in her email gave me visions of meeting up at an old abandoned warehouse and gyrating to the some pulsing house music.
Anyhow, I totally started a trend, and my friends all began referring to the event as The Barn Rave. It's even more funny when you think about the fact that my friend who was having the party was raised Southern Baptist and had never been to a rave, and our other friend grew up LDS and didn't even know what a rave was. So many comments. That email thread became legend.
Yesterday, the day of the barn rave arrived. I had the super secret address by then. My family hopped into our big flatbed Chevy, a beast of a truck that we affectionately call Rufus, and cruised up Highway 95 towards Sandpoint. A few miles north of Sandpoint you run into the Pack River, and after a bit of meandering on some back roads, we arrived at our friend's property.
We pulled into this valley after winding along some gravel roads and were surprised to see a yurt and two big barns in a massive field. We were again surprised when we got out, and after some salutations, found out our friends have been the caretakers of this property for the last couple years. A triple surprise was endured when they let it be known that they were in the process of purchasing the property, because guys, that place is one of those magical properties that don't come along often.
Imagine walking down a small road and having an eighty acre meadow open up before you, ringed by craggy coniferous and birch tree covered mountains. The entire meadow had paths mowed through it where you could wander at will down to a sandy and rock covered private beach on the edge of the river. The best part was it felt like a private park, for there were no signs of people anywhere, it was a veritable island of wilderness. We had a blast!
But the day wasn't done yet! After spending a few hours eating, taking nature strolls, watching the kids play bad mitten, and making fun of each other as we all tend to do, in a most amiable way of course, we hopped in Rufus and drove down the road to my parent's place. They live a couple of miles away from our friend's new mountain park wonderland, and that is where I experienced the product review part of this post.
As we drove down Ma and Pa's driveway, I noticed these strange looking inflated balls laying out in the yard. There was also the assortment of regularly present recreational detritus that peppers my parent's place when we have a family get together: Tonka trucks in the sandpit, a few dirt bikes, regular bicycles, tons of camp chairs around their fire pit, and a metric ton of food atop a bunch of tables.
However, my eyes were constantly drawn back to the weird inflatable balls. They were about four feet in height and looked like a see through doughnut with blue and red stabilizer arms in between the inflated part. I was intrigued.
After we got out, did Mother's Day hugs and present exchanging, the kids bolted to the balls. I was informed that they are called Knockerballs, and the carnage commenced.
Inside each Knockerball is a strap harness and handles. You are to crawl inside the doughnut of doom, strap in, grab the handles, and proceed to annihilate each other. The kids all took turns ramming each other while inside (and outside) the Knockerballs. It was amazing!
In fact, a new sort of scenario quickly emerged as there were seven kids and only two balls. It became a apparent that if you were in the Knockerball, you were going to get assaulted from all sides after the initial running at just each other novelty wore off. One time my daughter bounced off the ball so hard that she flew through the air and splatted onto the yard in such a fashion that I was sure her spinal column was going to be left planted in my dad's yard like a tribute to family fun gone too far.
She just laughed maniacally, hopped up, and charged at her brother like a rabid bull.
It was then that they all turned towards me. I was lounging comfortably in a chair of the curious sort. It looked like a dreamcatcher, and when I sank my form into its randomly crisscrossed stretchy strings the chair cradled me like a long lost grandmother. My reluctance to rise from the chair was about as high as the entire population of a 420 meetup.
"Come on Mom, I bet I can take ya," my daughter taunted, knowing that half my genetics hail from my over the top competitive father, especially when it comes to sports and recreational activities.
"Challenge accepted!" I bellowed as I sprang out of my turquoise hammock-like chair.
Before you could say I'm not clausterphobic I was ensconced in the Knockerball like a bolus in a sick rhino's rectum.
"You're going down." I told my daughter as she peered over the top of her Knockerball with a most insolent look.
All of the other kids surrounded us chanting like the bunch of seagulls that they are. A countdown commenced and before everyone hit one my heathen daughter charged towards me.
Let it be known, my kids are both much larger than me. In fact, I believe my daughter outweighs me by about 30lbs. She hit me she hard that I flew through the air like a spiked beach volleyball at mach one. I bounced off Dad's yard and marveled at the velocity at which I was traveling in that second when I was flying so fast that time slowed down.
I was also laughing like I had sucked in half a tank of nitrous oxide.
The best part is that I just got smashed by the equivalent of a Marshawn Lynch train wrecking and it hadn't hurt a bit. Like at all. We all then got the bright idea to put my sister-in-law's son John into the ball. He's a thirty year old, ex army, pyromaniac. Let's just say that he took a beating all pinata at a ten year old's birthday style.
We played in the Knockerballs for hours. Let me tell you, they are a bit expensive as I later found out, but they are worth every penny. My son is a thirteen year old, 5'10" 215lb wrecking ball of a football player and he smashed other teenagers in those things for hours, and they still held together! We weren't in some suburban yard of immaculate hydroseeding perfection either. Those kids flipped and flopped around in the Knockerballs all over the place and not one of them became pierced and broken in any way. Well, I just fibbed. We killed one of the harness straps.
All in all, between the Pack River Park Wonderland Barn Rave and the Knockerball Brawl, yesterday was one of the most memorable Mother's Days I have ever experienced!
And on that note, a very Happy Belated Mother's Day to all the amazing moms out there!
Author's note of probably not needed informational detail: I wrote this post yesterday, but then people showed up on my farm last night....so many people...
And as most of the time, all of the images in this post were taken on the author's slightly concussed and rather nonplussed iPhone.