Sushi, Farts, And Brilliant Night Skies

 

I spent this past weekend visiting my step-mom’s family in Battleground, Washington. My aunt Shirley, her husband Kier, and their four kids own a house and property nestled between several fields and stands of trees on a hill just outside of city proper. It’s a strikingly beautiful location. Cows graze lazily in adjacent meadows, small farms dot the landscape, the wind meanders around the treetops, making them sway. A vegetable garden about the size of a tennis court sits just to the right of the main road entrance. There’s plenty of room for running and games as the property line cuts a wide circle around the house into the forest. You simply couldn’t ask for a better or more private location to gather a large group of friends and family.

One thing about the Gombart family is that they’re an immensely creative and imaginative bunch. They always take full advantage of this space by decorating the hell out of it each year in accordance with a specific theme, and spend months planning and putting it all together. The last time I went it was Pirates of the Caribbean, while previous years included a rodeo. For this occasion the theme was Asia. A massive paper mural adorned with all the Chinese signs and their corresponding birth dates was taped along the front of the house. Kier stood at the ready with a mallet in hand next to a small gong, clanging it as we walked past to announce our arrival. Around back was a structure made of lashed bamboo poles with lanterns and origami hanging down. Wide canvases painted with Japanese symbols were staked along the perimeter. There was a stage and even a sumo mat spread a few meters away from the porch. 

Everyone ate lunch together – salad, tea, limeade, homemade sushi, fresh fruit. Then we gathered on the lawn to watch the first of three scheduled events: Sumo wrestling. They pulled out all the stops on this one, including two of those “one-size-fits-all” plastic sumo suits. It’s your own personalized fat suit that you squeeze your legs into, hoist up around the shoulders, and then inflate via a nozzle behind your neck. When I put mine on I felt like I was wearing a space suit, except my belly and ass were spilling all over the place while my arms flapped uselessly at my sides. You’re also not able to actually walk in these things. I waddled and hopped awkwardly to the mat, my cousin scooting over in his suit to square up in front of me. Speakers were set up, and Kier downloaded a virtual soundboard with chants, gongs, a 3-second countdown, and even a gravelly voiced announcer with cool phrases like “First blood!” and “Megakill!”

He also had the foresight to include farts.

Sweaty and bulbous, we squatted down in preparation for the match when Kier triggered a thunderous fart. It echoed across the landscape and sent our audience into peals of laughter. After the countdown, my opponent and I lunged at one another, colliding our portly synthetic epidermises to the tune of several more rips of splashy flatulence. By the time I had knocked my cousin out of the ring we were both utterly exhausted from the exertion while everyone else was exhausted from laughing so much.

We moved on to the second event. A Ninja Warrior-inspired obstacle course that included a hay bale climb, a balance beam, and a stick attached to an old cherry picker. This last piece was interesting. Essentially you hung on for dear life while being lifted into the air and carried to another platform for drop off. To spice it up, three plastic bottles sat on sticks along the way, and needed to be kicked off for bonus points. Several valiant attempts were made at this with a few victors. During my attempt, my grip gave out while flailing my legs at a bottle and I sliced my hand as I fell. “Impressive!” boomed the fake announcer.

The final event was a rickshaw race. A rickshaw is a small human powered carriage with room for one or two people in the seat. The person in the back had to hold a cup of water steady while the driver ran through a course as quickly as possible. Most everyone took a crack at this, with one team making a particularly daring run with little to no regard for balancing the cup. As they flew around the final corner of a downward slope leading to the finish line, the driver’s legs slipped on the grass. He fell instantly on his face but held his grip, yanking the rickshaw to the ground and sending his poor passenger, whose focus at the time was on balancing the water, tumbling headfirst out of the seat. Luckily no one was hurt, and they even managed to retain a few drops in their cup.

The day ended with dinner followed by a talent show. Most of us slept outside in tents, but before turning in everyone watched Jet Li’s Hero projected onto a sheet hanging on the side of the house. I didn’t stay awake long enough to finish the film, but right before drifting off I took a moment to gaze at the sky. It was a cloudless night, and the last thing I remember thinking was how clear and beautiful the stars looked up and away from the light of the city.