There’s no quicker way to lose your inner compass than through the experience of grief. God built us to numb down so we don’t experience the loss in one gulp. I remember the first year. I was so numb from the neck up. I didn’t fully grasp what had happened to my world until the second year. THAT was the year of pain for me because I “woke up” and he was still gone. I didn’t know where to turn. I literally didn’t know which end was up. I couldn’t make intelligent choices. I couldn’t see further than today…maybe even this hour. It was terribly disconcerting to me to feel so out of control. It was terribly comforting to me when you all started writing back with things like “Yes! That’s me!” and “OMGosh! You’re in my head! How did you know?”
“It’s part of the camping experience!” This is the justifying battle cry of the die hard camper when it comes to the subject of campfires. But I have a distinct love-hate relationship with them. I love the crackling of the wood and the shower of sparks you get when you throw another log on. I love the welcome blast of heat when the night air has chilled me to the bone. I love splitting wood and the satisfaction of seeing a plentiful stack ready for a long winter. I burned wood as my primary source of heat for four long, cold Colorado winters and I cut, hauled, split, and stacked wood for four long, hot summers. I love a wood fire. I love a wood burning stove with a pot of stew bubbling on top in a cast iron Dutch oven.
When my youngest was little, there were certain words she had trouble pronouncing. Me being a wordy, I had to correct her. We once were in the sewing center. She was crawling around and pulled herself up on the chair and babbled something. I asked her to slow down and enunciate so I could understand her. And she did. We never spoke baby talk to her. She would have called this a “capetiller”. There were mazagines" and “hopistol”. “Ambliance” and “swanich”. These are wonderful memories.
Hanging up the camper for the season is always so sad but TOW-Wanda will stay at the farm with me for a little while longer. I’ll need to clean her out really well and winterize her. We’re still up in the air about travel plans for February and March so I need to have her ready to face freezing weather.
Yesterday was glorious. The Girl Campers gathered midweek at Beaver Creek State Park in Lisbon, Ohio and stayed through the weekend. A lot of time was spent around the campfire talking, laughing, and bonding. Hugs were plentiful as many broke camp yesterday and headed home. We had more gals in tents this year. We had a couple of gals who had minivans set up with beds in them which I found intriguing. It got really cold the last couple of nights (down into the 30’s!) so these gals are hardy souls! As Janine Pettit says… Girl Campers…we go places and we do things!"
I went to church camp when I was thirteen. I remember having a wonderful time but I don’t quite remember what we did. My camping excursion this week has seriously felt like BEING at camp. This State Park (which I will name Monday) has the best naturalist. He organized a fly fishing class yesterday afternoon. Five of us went and had a grand time. One gal caught a little fish and was so excited. We were excited FOR her. We didn’t have waders. I had rubber rain boots and I promptly filled them by stepping in too deep. So I just kept on going and waded in up to my hips. I didn’t catch anything but it didn’t matter.
I don’t think there’s anything that beats camping in the fall. I do more camping in September than I do the rest of the year, total. The nights are crisp which makes for great sleeping. The days aren’t unbearably hot but still plenty warm to go out and do fun things. The mosquito population is much less intrusive by this time of the year making things more pleasant. I hate using insect repellents so this is a distinct advantage.
Some time after Grandma died, I was visiting the farm. I was cooking and rummaged around in the utensil drawer for a wooden spoon to stir something with. I grew up using wooden spoons and have owned many over the course of my life. I love them. I love the feel of the wood in my hand. I love the way they gently rub the bottom of the pan as you stir. I’ve learned how to gauge the proper thickness of a sauce or gravy by how the liquid coats the spoon. Placed across the top of a pan, a wooden spoon will keep pasta or potatoes from boiling over. Drape a wet dishcloth over the end and you can scrub the inside of a jar or bottle. They’re very handy.
Yesterday was errand day. Up at dawn, I ran through my list of very important things that needed to be done for the camping trip I’m leaving on today. And, not surprisingly, there were a couple of things I forgot. Mr. FixIt to the rescue! Yet another of the many wonderful advantages of dating this good man! He stopped on his way to my place and picked my items up at the market.
I think I finally got a handle on my possum problem here at the farm. I have been fiddling around with the cats’ feeding schedule and did some research online. I started feeding them once a day and unless they search me out asking for something in the evening, that’s all they get. By noon they aren’t eating anything anyway so I pick up their dishes and set them inside a galvanized bucket with a locking lid. Bingo! No more late night visits from a passel of possums!
A ship that slips its moorings is quickly swept to sea. At the mercy of the wind and the waves, it may sink to the briny depths, never to be seen again. Our relationship with God is much the same way. If we remain tethered to Him, we can weather any storm, but…let go and all bets are off. HE never lets go of us. It is always the other way around.
