Woodrow Wilson's River

Yesterday we went to the Wilson River, about an hour west of our house. (NOTE: President Woodrow Wilson wanted a river named after him, but all of the rivers he knew about were already named. Odd? I think not. So, he hired a crew of minions to dig the Wilson River. There is also a rock that has his face carved into it - like a Mt. Rushmore wanna-be. Odd? I think so.)

At the river, we met a six-year-old boy who borrowed one of our tubes. Here is a snippet of our conversation:

BOY: This is a really nice place. Have you been here before?

SAM: Yes.

BOY: This is my first time here. I like it because there isn't any barf.

SAM: Umm, what?

BOY: Y'know - there's no barf or litter. It's really nice.

SAM: Yeah, that's what I thought you said. Where are you from?

BOY: Sheridan.

Hence, I conclude the following:

1. Somewhere near Sheridan, Oregon is a river either (a) made of barf, or (b) always surrounded by spots of vomit.

2. Having low standards of niceness (such as, no puke = nice) leads to pleasant experiences.