I needed a name for the neon sign that went on the roller coaster- something like ‘Zephyr’ or ‘Cyclone’. I was reminiscing about my teen years at the moment and this name popped into my head. It was perfect.
I attended a high school that, at the time, was perched on the undeveloped edge of civilization. Literally, across the street were cornfields and trees that stretched for as far as anyone would want to see.
Every now and then on Friday nights, several of my classmates and I would meet up in the sticks and have parties, far from the prying eyes of parental scrutiny. The music of the day would waft from 8-track cassette players. 3.2 beer would flow, and the air would be tinged with the scent of cigarettes, ditchweed, and the hint of carnal anticipation.
I’ve met other folks from faraway places who did the same thing. However, they either didn’t have a specific name for these get-togethers or they called them something other than what we called them.
We called them ‘woodsies’.
