I read that you need to buy a dollar-permit to climb Old Rag Mountain now, and I’m sorry. It’s not the dollar, and it’s not the principle of the thing. I’m fine with the principle. It’s the fact that the old mountain is so overrun by people now that it needs thinning and discipline. It’s the same all over.
We’ve got a lot of beauty handy-by here in Portland. We have one main mountain that we feel personal about and several auxiliary ones that take a bit more of a drive and may or may not be blowing up a little. We used to have trails more or less to ourselves. But since I moved here in 1976 our city’s population has doubled. That’s a lot of pressure. You get too many people appreciating the wilderness, you don’t have wilderness anymore.
Old Rag, though. It’s in Virginia. It wasn’t a huge hike, but you could strap on a backpack and spend the night on top and maybe not see anyone else. Our high school group did that more than once. I have it in mind that Old Rag is short for Old Ragged Mountain although I don’t see anything about that in the Googles. So I don’t know the origin, but, I’ll just mention, Old Rag was the first place I ever used a tampon. So glad we didn’t decide to climb Mount Catheter.
I was young enough that there was nothing regular about my periods. I’d only had three or four, ever, and the spacing between them was not yet up to code. This led me to be unprepared as hell, and for very unsound reasons of my own I didn’t like to involve my mom much. So when I discovered that I was having a Situation on top of a mountain with no proper accoutrements, a manual, or even an Allen wrench, I scavenged my first tampon from one of the other girls. How do you do it, I wondered out loud. Well, she told me. You just stick it in.
Wouldn’t you think that would be a simple enough instruction? But when you don’t know anything about the territory previously known as Down There, you don’t really have a sense of the thing. What’s the trajectory? What’s the angle? If you feel resistance, do you keep pushing at the risk of punching yourself a new hole? Plumbing is like that. You don’t want to reef on things, without experience. How much pressure to exert? Are temperature and volume relevant? Do we need to take the Coriolis Effect into account?
I can’t remember if I consulted anyone. I believe I somehow discovered a way in and hoped it was the right way and not some new way I’d drilled for myself. But that isn’t all there is to it. You’ve got your tampon in your cardboard tube all ready to push in like a hypodermic, but is it in far enough? Is there such a thing as too far? Too far would be bad. It would be medically unwise. There might be retrieval issues.
So you stop at a point that feels prudent, and you pull out the cardboard delivery system. You’ve only got the one shot. Is it in enough?
It is not. Now you have a whole new form of discomfort to go with all the rest of the joys of adolescence. It is a discomfort which you will learn, later in life, to correct using your fuck-you finger while in a deep squat. And it is specifically a sort of discomfort that you really don’t want when you’re hiking. Especially Old Rag, which is a gigantic pile of huge boulders requiring a lot of leg stretching and pelvic contractions.
I would’ve paid more than a buck to get a little good advice then.
I am feeling a little OTR about the fact that this didn’t show up in my feed reader again. Hope the hackers haven’t been back.
It’s okay. You are always worth searching for!
Can you reintroduce it to your reader? (I don’t know how these things work. I haven’t heard of anyone else with this particular problem.)
Are you there God? It’s me–Doug. Hey I just wanted to thank you for this penis, which was a lot easier to manage than most girl’s vaginas. (Well, aside from those couple years in high school where I prayed the end-of-class bell WOULDN’T ring, because I couldn’t get parts of me to calm down, cough.) But I did have 3 sisters, the oldest of which had to hide her tampons because our mom was convinced those cardboard tubes would cost her her purity. I’d look at that giant box of Kotex under the bathroom sink sometimes and shudder. “There but for the grace of God…” Anyway Murr–you and your titles! Cute photo up there too, was that around ’72?
Ah, Doug… you made me LOL for real! Yes, my mom always told me that tampons “were for MARRIED women.” The maintenance alone is a nuisance (like Murr, I was also “irregular”… go figure.) However, I have always been VERY organized and prepared (and I was NEVER a Girl Scout), so I carried… um… accoutrements with me at all times. The accoutrements took up a lot less space in my purse/bookbag once I figured out that you didn’t have to be married to use tampons. And sometimes they came in handy for girls in the bathroom who weren’t as prepared.
Nope, I was not prepared. I cannot, now, fully understand why I didn’t talk to my mother about these things. Except that part of the embarrassment for me was that I was Mommy and Daddy’s ray of sunshine and by far the youngest child and I thought I was letting everybody down by growing up. I know that sounds weird, but it was an element.
My mom not only told me where babies come from from my toddler years, but about menstruation. (I was a precocious kid.) But for some reason, she never mentioned the vagina, and I thought that babies were automatically delivered by Caesarean Section (as I was.) The actual vagina was a mystery to me until I got my period. My clitoris, however, I discovered when I was a toddler. (I DID mention that I was precocious! When my mom caught me at it, she told me, “If you keep doing that, you won’t be able to have babies!” I thought to myself, “Well, this seems a HELL of a lot more fun than having babies!”)
Yeah, zero of that applies to me…
Thanks, Doug, that would’ve been about 1968. I think a penis would be kind of a pain in the ass. In fact, one once was…
Thanks Mimi and that was kind of you, helping other girls in times of need. For the record, I too carried accoutrements, well just one in my wallet. Because you never knew when a girl was going to offer herself to you provided you had protection! Of course, I think mine melted after sitting on it for 4 years…
I carried one of those, too! Because you never knew when a guy in the friend zone could turn into something more.
Doug, your first comment made me laugh out loud! Thankfully I am years past all this stuff. Don’t miss it one bit!
Not only never carried a rubber, but I could count the number of times I was in close proximity to one on two or three fat fingers.
This topic is always hilarious when a bunch of friends get together and tell old stories about how we learned…Doug is hilarious! Grace decided early on to explain this all to her younger sisters so they wouldn’t be as in the dark as she was. Wait…. I was the mother? Oh well…. they all know now…..
Maybe figuring it all out on your own builds character. No evidence of that, though.
I’m that case I must have a hell of a lot of character- I was told nothing- not by my mother nor by my two older sisters! So glad there’s a little bit of redemption here!
A friend of mine called it, ‘falling off the roof’. I took it literally, as it was the first time I’d heard that expression and was quite concerned for her welfare.
That’s just weird.
That’s what I thought. It was Texas.
Always amusing and again demonstrating that no topic is off limits!!
There must be some…
Hmmmm, I can’t seem to get the image of “using your fuck-you finger while in a deep squat” out of my mind. I mean, it doesn’t sound very lady-like, does it? But then again, we haven’t had any ladies around here since about 1973.
You just use that finger because it’s the longest.
I was lucky enough to be regular as clockwork from the very first time so I was never unprepared. Took me a while to get the hang of tampons though, we never had the cardboard inserter type until I’d been married a while.
The cardboard was replaced in most brands by plastic which one regretted (because of the plastic waste) but used (because it worked a whole lot better).
OMG,Murr! This story brought back a memory so embarrassing 😳 I’ve never spoken to anyone about it! I had that exact experience with a school hiking club on an overnight stay on a mountain in CT.
I too had to borrow supplies from someone who only had tampons because, eeew, “Who uses pads anymore?”
I had no idea what I was doing, no one to consult, no indoor plumbing, and very little light. When I did manage to get ‘er done, by feel (I hoped it was right) I was SO uncomfortable. (You never even mentioned the accompanying cramps…maybe yours were not as much of a disability as mine!) I was miserable, and not sure if my pain was normal or not, so also stressed! The next morning, I had to go through the removal and replacement phase, which presents a whole other issue…and I was unprepared for what a tampon was going to look like upon exit. So unprepared, that I was holding it in midair with, probably, a horrified look on my face, when our (elderly to me) hiking leader walked in on me. I relived that moment for the next full semester every time I walked into his history class.
Ugh.
Glad to be old and uterusless.
Why, that IS remarkably similar! It’s not my worst period piece though. I’m not sure I’m going to tell y’all about that one.
OMG! This made me LOL for real as well! I never dealt with the cardboard tubes, though. I just used the kind (I forget what brand it was. It’s been a LONG time.) that are hard-ass tampons and you just poke them into your vagina. I liked that they were smaller, and, as I stated before, I had NO PROBLEM touching my “lady parts” from an early age.
I still have a handful of pads in my backpack from the times years ago when my partner may have had an urgent need. She didn’t like tampons.
I went back to them in the later years myself. Really, there’s no perfect solution and I don’t think I ever once managed to get through a cycle without soiling something.
It’s one of the reasons I gravitated to wearing black all the time. Or small prints on a dark background. NEVER white. Now I don’t wear white for an entirely different reason: I tend to spill stuff on the white clothing, can’t get out the stain, and have to consign it to the rag bag.
OMG snorting here…… thanks for a marvelous start to the week. My 4 sisters and I are gonna hoot a while on this one
No such thing as TMI for this author! We love you for it.
There would have been TMI if my parents were still alive.
I have no business commenting on this, being an old male, except t.hat I have wonderful memories of Old Rag Mt., which I climbed mid-winter 1957-58. Near or at the summit, there was a cleft in the rocks hidden behind a bush. If you squirmed your way through it, you found yourself in a natural terrace with a grand view of the Shenandoah valley.
I think I remember that! A wonderful place.
Hhaha. This is one of those questions like: Where were you when Kennedy was shot. I bet every woman remembers her first tampon experience.
Seriously, first tampon, Kennedy assassination–same thing.
Well… there was a lot of blood involved in both scenarios….
Absolutely pitch-perfect piece, Murr, from the expectations raised by the title to the “oh, got that wrong” moment to the eventual “huh, not so wrong after all” wrap! Born and bred in holy catlick Ireland, I was introduced to periods by my mother informing me they were our punishment for the sins of Eve. Having spent the better part of my life up to that point being punished for the transgressions of my siblings, who could all move faster than me, I was royally pissed.
Yeah, taking it on the chin for poor Eve seems like a step too far.
Luckily had a mother who was also a nurse, a physical therapist and just very down to earth. Showed us how to use a tampon …by inserting one. Done. Also sat her 3 girls in front of the kitchen chalkboard to draw enough about sex to get the drift.
Oh, the memories! Reading “Being Born” and keeping the book under my pillow for reference! The Kotex lesson. And then the first period where I couldn’t bring myself to tell my mother there might be something wrong with me. I knew about the correct color of blood, but what was this brown stuff? Going to Aunt Ninie’s on Lake Michigan inspired my mother to buy me Pursettes. Anybody remember those? No cardboard applicators so you guessed it! The good ole fm finger except you can’t squat on a toilet, and I didn’t get it in far enough either. My mother had no idea having never used one and was no help. But you might have thought she could advise the necessary distance. Might as well have had a corn cob half in and half out. Ah, the memories you’ve revived. A very public telling of an event never before revealed. How many of you were told how fortunate you were to have a sharp metal fastener digging into your crack rather than wearing and washing your own rags as your ancestors had done? Murr, you’ve outdone yourself!
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