Hi Campers!

My husband is gone. He is incommunicado. He won’t be checking emails. I can’t contact him. He has gone to…

THE GROVE

Boys will be boys

When I first heard of this glorified “camp” for men, I was immediately intrigued and bewildered. The Bohemian Club, while an institution in San Francisco, me being of New England stock, I had never heard about this illustrious men’s club. I first stepped into its hallowed grounds at the club in the city when my friend got married. Her husband, a Bohemian disciple and member, had told me stories that made it seem like the be-all, end-all of well, everything.

Some of the early members

I have to admit that it sounded cool. A group of uber-wealthy, uber-powerful men coming together to be all chummy and tight-knit with like-minded and like-walleted people. It sounded tres elite and I thought it also seemed a bit snobby and upper-crusty, and isn’t a club just a club? Well, not this one, or so I have been told. It is the “in crowd,” the cool people, the clique that everyone wants access to but can’t get. I suppose I understand the attraction. Who wouldn’t want to be amongst the top musicians, playwrights, businessmen and powerful people? Just listening in on a conversation would probably make you smarter, or at least more informed.

But when I heard of this summer “camp” where the members came together in a sort of tribe to sing, dance, create, talk and just get away from life, all under deep cover and sworn to secrecy, well, I was downright jealous. A place in the middle of the woods (2,700 acres to be exact), outside of San Francisco, filled with redwood trees over 1,000 years old and some 300 feet high. Just sitting in an environment like that must be quite breath-taking.

But then comes all the mystique and intrigue. Members only. Formed in 1872 – that’s a long history. Guests allowed with a strict screening process, which I imagine to consist of an interrogation lamp, some water boarding, maybe a cavity search. No cellphones or electronic devices allowed. And absolutely no cameras. Legends are made here. Memories beyond compare. Male camaraderie at its testosteronial peak.

AND MY HUSBAND WAS INVITED.

What a lucky duck. My friend’s husband mentioned it at dinner, inviting my husband to the kick-off event “Spring Jinx.” I answered for my husband before he could even think about it. HELL YEAH he will go. Who would miss such an opportunity? You could be roasting hotdogs next to Kissinger, sharing bug spray with David Mamet. You just never know. I heard there are impromptu performances  – concerts, poetry, singing, Lakeside chats. At the end, there is a play. I hear there is good wine, fine cuts of meat. It sounded like “Shakespeare in the Park” meets Swiss Family Robinson meets Knights of the Round Table, combined with Ralph Waldo Emerson and the Boston Pops. Damn it sounds good.

Why don’t we women have something like this? I want to go to camp! I want to sit around with my female comrades expanding our minds and being creative. And no, I am not talking about some annoying spirituality conference where you talk about how you “feel” or a spa camp where you learn how to do yoga like you have never yoga’d before and have your first colonic. California has plenty of that crap. I’m talking about the intellectual camp. I haven’t had old school stimulation like that since my days at Winsor.

I wonder if my husband will enjoy it. I watched him pack. Pretty funny considering there are no guidelines of what to pack for such a unique getaway. Hiking boots and a smoking jacket? Chinos and a fez? I wonder what the daily schedule will be. Perhaps morning calisthenics? Perhaps taking turns chopping wood? Who am I kidding? I hear they have personal valets who attend to their every need. The Grove is Intellectual Glamping – no soiling of the hands for these men of power. Perhaps the men will beat their chests and scream. Perhaps they will fart and burp openly. Maybe they will refuse to bathe. That could be typical of ANY male trip out in the woods. But this GROVE thing is something out of another time. It is Lord of the Flies. It is sacred. And women are not invited.

THAT SUCKS.

There has been some controversy about the Grove, so much in fact, that the Bohemian Grove Action Committee was created to try to infiltrate and destroy the club’s elite and secret foundation. They say that it is not fair that this group is allowed to meet and plan out the world’s fate, as if it is a meeting of the UN. I say GIMME A BREAK. Perhaps these men are sharing thoughts and ideas, perhaps they are in cahoots on business deals, perhaps they are politically motivated (membership has included every Republican and some Democratic U.S. Presidents since 1923) – so? If they weren’t meeting here to discuss their thoughts and aspirations, believe me, they would be doing it somewhere. Do you think Sun Valley’s mogulfest every year with Bill Gates and Eric Schmidt isn’t making things happen? How about Warren Buffet’s billionaire gathering in Arizona?

And if you are going after the GROVE, then you may as well go attack any group of like-minded people – say Harley Davidson owners, or Star Trekkies, or the druggies at Burning Man. Oh wait – Bohemian Club is different – it is closed to only members. Yeah well, go cry into your pillow. They’re smarter than we are – they made the club exclusive. It’s a free country, go form your own club.

I for one, will wait till my husband comes home and see if there are any visual signs of change. Will they have branded him with their motto “Weaving Spiders Come Not Here,” or will he look traumatized? Maybe he will walk around putting on airs calling me “muffy.” Or worse, maybe he won’t tell me ANYTHING. Whatever happens, I just hope he comes back as my husband and not a total BOHEMIAN.