Some points of clarification about this "Camp Jeep" deal - no, we don't drive a Jeep anything. From what I've read on various bumpers, it's thing I wouldn't understand. We're here for scrapbooking - specifically, M.Bro is teaching 14 2-hour classes over the next three days to Camp Jeep participants.
After pooh-poohing the entire deal last night and this morning, I can see the attraction now that I'm here. It's an outdoor-activity-oriented festival, which just happens to be open only to Jeep owners (Jeep owners willing to pay a $400 registration fee). Realizing, I think, that not everyone here wants to climb a rock wall, ride a skateboard at the halfpipe, steer a BMX bike around the dirt track, drive their Wrangler through one of the twelve obstacle courses, or rappell, there's an entire tent village offering slightly less x-treme activities. M.Bro's angry that her tent was labeled "scrap-booking" with a hyphen.
Our pre-CJ and post-CJ activities weren't too awful either. This morning, after two months of stress and a vaguely-threating phone call to M.Bro and Mel's father last night to get a faxed waiver of consent, the guardianship hearing went as smooth as you can imagine this morning. Cigars all around!
After setting up the Scrap"-"booking tent this afternoon, we moseyed down Plymouth's quaint little main street. We had a late lunch at a tiny diner, and I have to be honest - I enjoyed our $12 meal there more than the anniversary dinner M.Bro and I had at L'etoile last week (significanly more than $12). I'm a bad eater or something, I guess. A few blocks down the street, I found a pair of black military-issue boots at a vintage clothing store. For $2. These should last through dozens of zombie killings.