There are lots of things to be afraid of while camping: axe murderers, bear attacks, big black beetles, sprained ankles, and worst of all, red neck neighbors. I knew we were in trouble when I saw my neighbors decorate their campsite with a spare truck tire. They placed it proudly, close to gravel road of Loop B, where passersby could cast their gaze upon it as they strolled through the forested beauty of the Butte Lake Campground. As luck would have it, the tire was the very first thing I saw every time I looked down upon my neighbors from our campsite (we were uphill).  

I was camping in the Lassen National Forest with my boyfriend, Benjamin, for 5 nights. We were in dire need of a vacation and decided to head to the mountains for the busy weekend of Labor Day. We knew the potential for crowded campsites and annoying people but we never imagined how bad it could actually be.

I couldn't take my attention away from the activities of my neighbors' site. Self-conscious of my own prying eyes, I began to sneak glances through the mesh tent window or while pretending to read a book. They were 1 mean old lady, 4 salty adults, 5 loud teenagers, 1 timid child named Mareesa, and 1 yappy Boston Terrier. A variety of vehicles littered the forest floor around them: 2 pickup trucks, 1 Jeep, 1 sedan, 1 camper trailer and 2 row boats. Towels, life vests, and lawn chairs filled the space left over.

The grandma, in particular, became the main attraction of my snooping. She was a feisty old woman with a boulder-sized chip on her shoulder. Most of the time she sat in her lawn chair, with sun visor on head and book in hand, holding court over the site. I often heard her yell terse remarks out to the others for simple things like forgetting to bring the tablecloths. They all looked as if they lived in fear of her. Even the little girl appeared timid in her presence - and with good reason. It seemed that Granny had it in for Mareesa. One evening, I saw them standing apart from the group in seclusion between two of the trucks.

"You see this stick?" Her grandma towered over Mareesa growling, "I'm going to tear you up with it if you keep makin' those faces at me."

Mareesa was afraid. I could tell that she was denying the accusation. Eventually she fell silent and stared down at the ground, kicking at invisible pebbles in the dirt. My heart went out to Mareesa. I wanted to run over, grab the thick black stick, and give her grandma a piece of my mind.

"Those legs are lookin' to catch bruises," she grumbled while shaking her implement of torture at Mareesa. Then, as if nothing had happened, she threw down the stick and turned on her heel to join the rest of her clan celebrating with margaritas around the campfire.

If spare tire lawn ornaments and cranky grandmothers weren't enough, our neighbors were loud and loved country music - especially one particular CD, which they played repeatedly. Even though they had a boom box, they chose to play music from the truck parked the farthest away from their site. Country music blared from sites B 46 & 47 until late in the night. When the adults went to bed, the teens would change the music to heavy metal.

"Can you hear it?" one of the girls called out to the others one night.

"Yep," Benjamin yelled back in the dark.

"It's not 10:00 yet," one of the boys replied and then told his sister that she should probably turn the music down a tad. I looked at my watch. It was 9:55.

We awoke too early the next morning to the loud sound of their generator. The offensive mechanical noise overtook the delicate sounds of nature for the next hour. As we lay, teed off, in our tent, we contemplated ways to sabotage the awful machine. I suggested that we remove a spark plug when the neighbors weren't looking. That's what they always do in the movies, I reasoned. But Benjamin had more creative ideas, which I can't commit to paper.

When the noise of the generator finally shut off, the sounds of our neighbors' bickering replaced the racket. Discord had erupted amongst the group. It was only a matter of time and three nights appeared to be the limit. Perhaps the wicked personality of grandma rubbed off on the rest of the group. They seemed to be arguing about dirty dishes and neglected trash duties. I heard one of the women say about a small sub-set of their group, "They're a bunch of jackasses." I couldn't have agreed more.

Not long after the drama over chores, our neighbors began to pack their things. Benjamin and I were delighted. We still had two nights left at Butte Lake and we could finally enjoy the stars and fire at night in peace. Strangely, as they lifted the last of their things into their truck, I felt a pang of disappointment. Who and what would I watch to entertain myself? I looked at Benjamin and said with a sigh, "Well, what should we do now?"

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