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quickly in the sun, when Augie straightened up for a second to stretch his back. He looked at the boards that were left and the remaining contents of the rolling pan and said, “I think we have a problem.”
    I paused and looked at him.
    â€œNot enough paint,” he explained, gesturing at the stack of pink boards.
    I examined the situation and set down my brush with a sigh. “You’re right,” I agreed. “We’re not going to make it.”
    â€œWe could go back to Unk’s and get more, I guess,” Augie suggested. He didn’t look thrilled at the prospect.
    â€œMan,” I said dejectedly. “I figured by now we’d have the fort half-built. If we stop to get more paint, the whole day will be gone before we even hammer one nail.”
    We stared at the ground for a while.
    Finally, I said cautiously, “I might have an idea.”
    Augie looked at me with hope.
    â€œWe could just paint squiggles on the rest. You know, like camo.”
    â€œPink camo?”
    â€œPink and brown ,” I said. “The brown would, you know, break up the pink.” As soon as I said it, I tried to picture it.
    I couldn’t.
    Then I could.
    â€œNever mind,” I said. “Stupid idea.”
    â€œHold on,” said Augie. “It might not be as stupid as it sounds.” He thought for a minute. “Deer don’t see colors,” he went on, sounding a little more enthusiastic. “That’s why hunters can wear blaze orange. As long as something has a pattern on it, so it blends in with trees and bushes and stuff, it doesn’t matter what color it is.”
    â€œSo, wait. You’re saying we don’t want deer to see the fort?” I asked.
    Augie shrugged. “Or anybody else.”
    â€œBut,” I said, “people can see color.”
    â€œWell, duh ,” said Augie. “But the human eye can be fooled, you know what I mean? Like one of those crazy pictures where you think you see one thing, but it’s really something else?”
    â€œAn optical illusion?”
    â€œExactly! I mean, anybody would see a big pink board out in the middle of the woods, right? But the camo pattern will make it confusing looking, like maybe it’s not a big pink board. You know what I mean?”
    â€œKind of,” I said, even though I didn’t, really.
    Augie shrugged again. “I guess it’s a dumb idea.”
    He looked so downcast and sheepish all of a sudden, I wanted to cheer him up.
    â€œNo!” I said. “You’re right. There’s not, like, a rule that says camo has to be green and brown. And, anyhow, it’ll take forever to get more paint, and I want to get going on this fort.”
    â€œMe, too!”
    â€œI mean, we only have two weeks ’til I have to go home.”
    â€œLet’s do it!”
    We started painting like mad, me with a brush, Augie with a roller, making squiggly lines and crazy, random patterns.
    â€œThis is a lot more fun, anyway,” I said.
    â€œTotally,” Augie agreed.
    Al and Unk had been playing checkers all afternoon, arguing about the best breed of hunting dog (Al favored the pointing breeds, Unk the coonhound), the right way to grill bratwurst (Al said ’til they bust open, Unk said you had to take them off just before they bust open, so they stay juicy), and the correct method for dealing with a skunk living under your porch.
    While they agreed that a skunk under the porch was a very delicate situation, Al maintained there was no good solution. “Face it,” he said. “You’re doomed. Ya just gotta live with the stink until the skunk decides to go somewhere else.”
    Unk said he knew a guy who had success using a live-catch trap baited with cat food. “But ya gotta use a small trap,” Unk warned, “so it can’t lift its tail. It can only blast you if it can lift its tail.”
    I’d been only half listening to them all