Filed under: — lana @ 11:49 pm

Still not enough time to catch up, but at least I haven’t been arrested for blogging. It’s a new Army, defending the free speech for all except oh wait… us. But still, it’s been a pretty fun existence of late. Fighting off the man, trying to dig as few holes as possible to fill back in (reference ex-PFC Wintergreen), running around trying not to do anything that will have me see the inside of scenic prisons anytime in the near future, and going on four-day-turned-ten-day passes which strongly benefit from the fun flight situation around here.

However, I did get to have some flashbacks to ‘Nam the other day. You wouldn’t think I would be wandering among the thickets of… Iraq, but oh boy, was I ever. The grass in the farms here can grow higher than the Samoans who have labeled themselves my bodyguard service, so when we split our convoy last week so we could look for a mortar launch site and my partner and I were trying to link up, of course it was him who got to take the road to the point and me who got to cut through the jungle-like and thorn-ridden growth that permeates central Iraq. So as we tried to find them by the bird whistles of my interpreter and me occasionally getting on the radio and telling them to cut out that $%&*# racket, I checked the reeds for haji, reminiscing about Da’Nang before the Tet offensive. I asked my Samoan friend if we were going to have to get airlifted back out, just like back in Saigon, and he looked at me as though I had finally lost it. So I get on the radio and tell my partner I can’t locate them, could they shake a tree or something. Luckily, they were standing next to the tallest tree in the area, and all you could see among the grass and weeds and assorted shrubbery was a tall, thin tree rustling. So eventually, we foraged through and felt we had made enough of an accomplishment for the day that we only half-listened to the strange cow-herder with a shovel (I didn’t ask, because I didn’t want to know, why a cow-herder had a shovel). It’s a good thing we only half-listened anyway, because we would say things like “So, what is your name?” and he would answer “Six.” “How many people herd cows around here?” “Blue.”

I gave up pretty quickly.

We took the road back to our truck. I was still picking burrs out of my clothes for a day and a half.


  1. Look at the bright side, kid - better picking them out of yer clothes than out of yer backside…

    Comment by Dad — 8/28/2005 @ 2:53 pm

  2. My Cows breath smells like cow fooood!
    Miss you Lana!

    Comment by Steve — 8/29/2005 @ 11:19 am

  3. If you went to the Ag school, you’d understand all about cows and shovels. Silly engineers.

    Miss you!

    Comment by Lisa — 8/29/2005 @ 3:37 pm

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