Wells County

We all have that friend with two middle names.

At first, you think, wow, this individual has some great characteristics. I will look into friendship with him or her.  Only after you are sucked within the depths of friendship, you find out that she has two middle names (one of them being Couch). Then, all of a sudden, undoubtedly due to how many names she has, she feels entitled to a blog post entirely dedicated to your visit to her home county.

So here it is.

Several weeks ago, I visited Wells County. This is significant. I would even say monumental. When I learned to drive, I was TERRIFIED. My father would beg me to go the speed limit. Generally, I preferred to stay under, at, say, 10 mph. Yes, 10 was nice. I also would not drive on highways for probably 2 solid years unless there was a life or death situation.

I have since overcome my irrational fear of driving. Mostly. However, this drive was my longest. Until this hour and a half drive, the longest I had driven was an hour, and that was only because I got lost, to be brutally honest. Shout out to Becca for being a passenger. I know that an hour and a half of a situation in tight, closed quarters with me, and especially with me having any kind of control, is probably a situation meriting a few jewels in your heavenly crown.

With shouts of glee, we passed a small sign subtly welcoming us to Well County. Then we passed not much for quite a while.  Eventually, we made it past all of the not much and all the way to the muchness who is Lauren Klansek. We walked and sang along the Wabash, and I have never felt more a Hoosier. We went to Walmart and ate ice cream and played ping-pong. You know, the crazy summers that college kids dream about.

At night, things got crazier as we embarked on the adventure known as "the campfire cone." After Becca and I literally pranced around the backyard pond of deceiving magnitude, it drew close to bonfire time. It was difficult to tell just how close, exactly, as Lauren had advertised the beginning time as "when the sun goes down." As Mike so keenly observed, "What is this? The Wild West?" And for that night, for that moment, yes. Yes it was.

So this campfire cone. Lauren doesn't like s'mores. I've also heard rumors that she isn't a real American. Oh wait, no. That was just me, responding to Lauren's distaste for s'mores. Therefore, when the campfire cone idea came up on good old Pinterest, Lauren decided that this was to be the snack.

Allow me to explain the general concept:

1. Take you a nice waffle type cone.
2. Fill you that cone nice and full with berries, marshmallers, chocolate and peanut butter chips, and candy.
3. Wrap that cone nice and snug in aluminum foil.
4. CAUTION, ALERT, ATTENTION, WATCH YOSELF: THIS IS THE TRICKY PART. Place your wad of foil, cone, and sugar somewhere between next to and inside of the fire and leave it in there until everything melts and nothing burns.
5. Eat you that cone. 

Step four was that killer step. That step that is out of place and steeper than all of the other, more reasonable steps on the Staircase of Snacktime. I do not think any of us mastered step four.

But that's ok, because 6 showers later, my hair still smelled like bonfire.

And it's also ok, because it can go down in the books as yet another of our food related failures, since the zucchini chips, honey roasted chickpeas, and recipe-less "cookies" were getting lonely in that category. 

In other news, I've decided to close my blog posts like letters, because that is how I think.

Finally finishing this, for Lauren, for Becca, for friendship, and for Narnia,

Jenna B.