Just back in from a little camping trip to the Warren Dunes in Michigan. It's only about an hour and fifteen minutes from here, and it's fabulous. If you ever get a chance, you should go. Thanks Shannan for Guest Posting! I had hoped to have a blog post up before I left, but I did some serious crashing and burning after the Garden Walk. I didn't realize I was so tired.
This was a solo flying Squirrel mission, as Glenco stayed home to work and tend the feathered things. I took Aaron and one of his friends.
I've never pulled the camper myself before, and law, I was a bit nervous. I think there are still hand prints in the steering wheel. Let me correct that, I've pulled it before, but never set it up, and hooked it back up and drove it home alone before. My sitting here typing the tale tells you that I did make it-without any incident. The camper wasn't all that level - which made sleeping a little interesting - but all in all - success. You do realize what this means now? I'm a free bird baby - and I'll be coming to your neck o' the woods soon! The 2011 Coop Keeper Tour is in progress. At least I wish it were - how fun could that be?
Did I take ONE SINGLE solitary photo of this trip? Nope. In fact, the last pictures on the camera are the ones that I took of the hitch ball - what it's supposed to look like when properly hitched. All the photos you see here are from the Michigan Tourist Website.
I'm not sure that I'll ever camp again in July. It. Was. Hot. Thankfully, we had Lake Michigan to cool off in. I have a confession - I can't keep this charade up any longer.
I don't like camping.
Law, the truth has set me free!
I like it in the fall - but there are still things that bother me about it. I shall list them, you shall shake your head, and then you will probably pray for me - cause that's about all that can cure this kind of crazy that afflicted me.
I'm not talking about my campsite - and yes, that gets messy too and it makes me insane.
I mean other people's campsites.
As I drive around I think - really - can't you just turn that tent a little and neaten things up? Do you really need all that stuff sitting out on your picnic table? Why are your towels hung on the line in such a haphazard fashion? Why is there so much dirt? Can't you line those bikes up in order? Why is it so hot? Who's idea was this anyway?
These are the things I think as I drive to the bathroom at 1 am. Oh, it doesn't matter the time - I don't sleep when I camp. In fact, it's been three days since I've slept for more than 15 minutes at a time. Nor do I have a bowel movement. It just plum seals up on me whenever I leave the county. Been like that for years. I get mighty bloated. When I came home Glenco told me I looked like the end of the world.
Every morning the kids would tell me how I hovered over their beds checking on them over and over, and touching their faces and murmering 'ok'. How scary is that? I must have been doing that in the 15 minute sleep intervals cause I just vaguely remember doing it. And then there's the whole serial killer fear that is buried deep in my brain when I camp. I lie awake at night planning my escape from the 6' x 8' camper. It's not pretty. No one makes it out alive. I fear turning over and seeing a face at the window. "Was that a car door? Is someone stealing the Jeep? Did I leave the keys in it?" I'm really tormented. I bet you are laughing now, aren't you? Shame - shame on you.
The first full day that we were there was wonderful. It wasn't too terribly hot and we spent the majority of the day on the beach. The kids played in the water alllll the ding dong day, and I sat under a big tree on my lounge chair and devoured 'The Help' by Kathryn Stockett. Read the whole thing in one day. Close to 500 pages. It's a wonderful book! (and it's also the reason I really wish I could cook like Southern black woman, and talk like one - I'm sorry - I know it's wrong - but I sure do wish it awful hard.) I'm just now delving into the world of fiction - I usually never read anything unless it told me how to build it, fix it, grow it, cook it, decorate it, clean it, or hatch it - so this is new to me. Reading for pure pleasure, reading for an escape - I'm loving it. As I lie in my vintage webbed lounge chair, I felt like the happiest gal in the world. "I oughta do this more often. Why don't I do this more often? I should make some noodle salad and sandwiches and go the beach every week. Yep, that's what I'm gonna do." Even my sweat seems to be filled with hope and joy.
The second day - with my book all read up, I didn't quite know what to do with myself. This is not a good situation. I don't do well in these situations. My hands - my brain - they need something. We are back on the beach now - this time - it's just plum hot. I'm under my tree again - but this time I've nothing to do. I remember that I brought my knitting, and thought I'd slap out a few more dishcloths. Just holding the yarn was horribly uncomfortable. I didn't see anyone else knitting on the beach. I'm starting to think it's not a good idea. But get this - I got my needles out and my yarn, and I couldn't remember how to do it. I sat there, like I'd never held knitting needles in my hand before. I felt scared. I fiddled. Nope, I can't remember how to cast on. I put it away. I have dementia. I'm sure of it. That's why I tell Aaron the same story over and over, and that's why I keep forgetting things. Oh Lord. I tell Aaron that I'm afraid I won't remember him in 20 years, and if I don't, I'm sorry. I pick up the needles again. Nothing. More worry. I need to start taking Omega 3's. I should start playing Sudoku. My brain is dying. I have cancer. Alzheimer's. I let another hour go - I pick up the needles again. Things fell into place, and I remembered. I got 35 stitches cast on and I put it all away, it's too hot to knit on the beach.
So for the rest of the camping trip, I'm left with my own compulsive, dark, crazy thoughts. "I should talk to people about cleaning up their campsites. Maybe instead of goats, I should get sheep. I think I will be cremated. I should start an heirloom tomato business. I should quit blogging. I should start a new blog. I want to go to Oregon. Why don't I ever go anywhere fun?I'm missing out on so much of life. I need to remember to dig up the dahlias this year. Why in the world is my hair so blonde and short? My house windows are filthy. I can't believe I'm missing MadMen."
My friends - I'm home now. And there is a change comin'. I can feel it in me bones. A good change - a big change. I'm just not happy unless I've got some shenanigans up my sleeve. I need a good caper to keep me going. I've rested up from the Garden Walk. In fact, I've barely lifted my finger in the garden for three weeks. I've slept in, read four novels, drank wine, spent time with friends, and now - it's time. It's time for something else to put me up against the wall - to stretch me - to change me.
Wanna know what it is?