Happy Mud2

Our counselors called it Mud Day. We had absolutely no idea what they were talking about, until they asked us to wear our old bathingsuits and shorts. We had an inkling then, but surely no, they wouldn't ask us to do that?!? Then the wheelbarrow full of mud rolled up, toted by my personal favorite councellor Joey. His long blonde ponytail was covered in dry cracking mud, including the rest of his body, giving him the appearance of a large, human-shaped, cracking clay pot. We collapsed with giggles, not believing they would ask us to do such a thing. To demonstrate, Joey slaps a handful of mud onto another councellors back, grins, and says, "Who's first?"
Twenty minutes later, still giggling, a little harder this time, we were lathering eachother with mud. Everywhere, our whole bodies were covered with mud and old grass that we had rolled in before the mud dried. We looked something like cavemen from the Neolithic age if you can imagine them tossing handfuls of mud and taking photographs for the 'rents. Joey called over to the campfire circle, and started to talk about our afternoon.
Joey explained that we were going to play a little game. It involved crouching along roadsides and hiding from passerby as much as we could. We weren't supposed to be seen by anyone in cars, on bikes, or anything else. They would probably honk or yell if they saw us, he said. 'I don't blame 'em,' somebody muttered, 'bunch of loonies we look.' They taught us sink and fade, a tactic to melt into brush if passerby happened by us. When we saw the signal ::wild arm waving by Joey:: we were to slowly sink down into the brush and blend in. The mud really helped y'know. We started moving out, and Joey did a few test signals just to try our skill. Then he announced we were ready for the real deal, and we started out along the road.
So we get about 200 feet from camp, in a very low brush area next to a bridge out at Sugar Hollow, the location of our camp. Joey starts signaling frantically. Whatever it is, it's close. But we're exposed. We can't get to the other side of the bridge in time. We have no idea what to do. We'll be spotted if we stay where we are, but we'll be spotted if we try to sprint across the bridge too. We hear the rumble of an engine getting closer to the bridge. Last second, we instinctively sink, then...well...don't really fade. There are odd little mudballs crouched in the weeds, and it looks silly. We hear raucous laughter, then tires across the bridge. Tires squeal on asphalt, and the car backs up. Damn. We've been spotted by a red jeep with two somewhat tipsy looking gents in it.
"What 'choo all doin' down in that brush?" a voice calls down to us.
"We see you!!! C'mawn out naw. We see yo' campfar over there! Ya'll could start a fire! Don't make us call yo' mammies kids!"Giggles break out all over. Whoever it is, they're perhaps drunk and don't know we have two 30+ adults with us with camp knives. The men continue to yell as we cover our mouths in the weeds, torn between fear of these morons and the desire to burst out laughing.
"Don't make us come dawn ther!!!"At a nod from Joey, the counsellors stand up, still covered in mud and looking like cave creatures, or bigfoot relatives from the smaller side.Obscenities are yelled from the Jeep as it peels out, screeching and weaving off. We really do burst out laughing now, and the counsellors join in. Dried mud turns wet as we laugh till tears come out, and we get up to keep going. Fifteen mud-garbed indians made their way across the now safe bridge, and along the side of the road. We got some queer glances at the swimming hole as we washed off, but all in all, that was a pretty satisfying time.