#33: Our Month on the Sun

Our month in Tennessee was challenging.  The long, hot days were relentless and there was little refuge from the heat.  Parked in a vast concrete subdivision with scarcely a tree in sight and the sun beating down on the camper, our little a/c unit struggled to keep the camper temperature below 85 degrees in the scorching afternoons. After a few days I broke down and began taping double bubble insulated foil over the windows and stuffing pillows into the roof vents to try and better insulate poor patsy. We even spent $50 on a roll of reflective “heat control” windows film. It made a significant difference on the heat from the sunlight coming through the windows, but didn’t make much difference to the overall temperature of the camper. Even with every fan running, a dehumidifier, and the a/c, it was still miserably hot during the day.

Determined to make the best of our time in Tennessee, I had planned to take full advantage of the incredibly flat terrain by taking up running and biking again.  Ordinarily living in a place where everywhere is uphill, taking up these activities after a long hiatus requires a level of motivation, determination, and energy of which I thoroughly lack.

So on our first morning in Tennessee I rose early and dressed for a run.  I figured that the morning would be cool and would make for better running conditions.  I was wrong.

As I stepped out of the camper the low morning sun was both blinding and burning.  The humidity was ruthless and the sunlight stung my skin.  Devon has been my running partner since he was a pup and has always shown enthusiasm for our adventures into his older, greyer years.  As a pup I would run 10 miles every other day with him and upon our return home, when my legs were jello and my body aching, he would still be bouncing around for more.  But even the Tennessee heat got to him and by the end of our first week I had to physically drag 50lbs of dog out of the camper by his collar as he spread his legs, digging his claws into the floor in an outright refusal to go outside.

After my morning run I would return and load Junior up into the bike trailer – another glorious gift from my wonderful mother.  Junior loved our little morning rides – and why wouldn’t he?  The lazy little bugger could sit back and relax while benefiting from the gentle warm breeze in his face without exerting any energy to achieve it.  Meanwhile in front, I was drenched in sweat, my chest heaving for another gulp of hot air and my legs ablaze with blood pounding through my feeble muscles to try and pedal myself and an extra 40lbs of weight.  

Being back in a neighborhood revived many sights and smells I’d all but forgotten after almost a year of living in a camper.  Most mornings one neighbor or another would be out mowing the grass and the sweet smell of the fresh grass cuttings would fill my nose as I ran or rode past.  Dogs would bark and yap as I passed by and, on my rides with Junior, he would giggle and exclaim “PUPPY!” every time.  Children playing in nearby yards, pools and sprinklers would shriek and roar with laughter.  The occasional wrath of a mother at wit’s end after weeks of being shut in with her children could be heard as she scolded her unruly heathens.  People enjoying the shelter from the mid-morning sun on their front porches would wave hello and smile at Junior in his little blue bike helmet.

I took full advantage of the cooler evenings too, when the sun would dip down low enough that the streets would be shaded.  Sunset walks were my favorite.  The upside to no surrounding trees was that there was an almost uninterrupted view of the sky and the magnificent cloud formations.  The nearby Mississippi River, a mere 20 minute drive away down flat country roads, created some spectacular weather patterns.  While most days we endured the unrelenting heat from the cloudless sky, sometimes we could see nearby storms passing with ferocious black and grey clouds, swelling to burst and producing magnificent thunder and lightning that lit up the sky.  In the evenings the clouds would glow with the pinks, reds, oranges and purples from the setting sun.

We were fortunate to be able to catch a few sunsets over the river too.  Once we’d gotten Junior down to sleep we would hand Chris’ parents the baby monitor and head down to the bottoms.

The bottoms are a strangely beautiful place.  It’s the low land near the Mississippi River that consists of mostly farm land and dilapidated trailers and small huts.  The ride to the bottoms cuts through the miles of farm land.  The cotton, bean, and corn fields stretch on for miles and miles around into the horizon, dancing on the gentle breeze as we drive past.  

Sunset over the cotton fields on the bottoms.
The Mississippi River to the left and the cotton fields of the flood-prone bottoms to the right.

In the evenings, the people and the bugs come out to congregate at the rocky dykes at the river.  It’s an interesting crowd that gathers – from both species.  The horse flies are more like small birds with a bite that feels like a small knife stabbing into you.  The people, slightly less terrifying than the bugs, come mainly to drink, smoke and avoid the police.  Most seem to know each other, and gather at the river banks to hang out on their tailgates.  

The dykes on the banks of the Mississippi.

We would usually show up just in time for sunset, though we often missed the peak viewing time, and I’d happily snap away as the barges slowly drifted up river.  It was peaceful, drunken background banter aside, and we were grateful for our short little getaways just the two of us.  

Rays of light beaming across the sky over the Mississippi River.
Sunset over the Mississippi River looking at Arkansas.
The sun paints the clouds bright red as it disappears into the horizon of Arkansas.

We did try for a couple of date nights toward the end of the month – but the universe seemed to be thoroughly against the idea.  On our first attempt we got a little dressed up and headed out for dinner, but Chris (old Magoo over here) ran over a big hunk of metal on the highway and we got a flat tire.  Chris spent the next 30 minutes sweating profusely in the muggy evening heat on the side of the highway changing the tire.  I walked back to retrieve the culprit from the road to prevent a similar fate from befalling anyone else and found that the offending object was in fact a foot peg that had broken off of a motorcycle.  To me, the message could not have been clearer: Chris and motorcycles are a bad mix.  We laughed about it, because to react any other way would have been a waste of energy, and we eventually made it to date night for some margaritas and more laughs.

The next night we attempted another date night.  This time we made it to the restaurant without incident.  But our waitress was a little odd and talkative.  She spent a solid 20 minutes talking to me about how much she loved England before she even took our orders.  After over an hour of waiting on our food, mine came out cold and Chris’ was the wrong order.  We decided instead to call it a night and headed back to the camper for some drinks and cards with our friends, Nick and Leanne.  We had a much better night like this anyway.  

We also arrived just in time for the 4th of July celebrations. It was another benefit to being in a neighborhood for a short while; without spending a dime on fireworks we got a pretty spectacular show. Our niece and nephew came over for the night too so we got to witness the sheer bliss and thrill on their excited little faces as the fireworks erupted all around us. Of course we did get some sparklers for them to run around with as well. Neighbors were setting off fireworks right outside the house, from little screamers to great big boomers, and Junior slept through the entire thing. Devon, on the other hand, was scared out of his mind so I checked on him periodically and found him shivering, seeking refuge as he quivered under the toilet in our tiny bathroom. I left the radio and all the TVs on for him to try and drown out the noise, but it didn’t seem to do much to relieve his fear.

Fireworks and a full moon.

Chris spent most days working on the many projects he had lined up at his parents’ house.  Though he was working the whole time we were there, it was nice for him to have Junior run in and out now and then and give him a big hug.  Sometimes Junior would walk in when Chris was remodeling the bathroom and stand at the newly tiled shower and say “wow, Papa!”  They were adorable and heart-warming moments.  Junior’s biggest love, however, was the very bouncy king-sized bed in Chris’ parents’ room next to the en suite that Chris was remodeling.  He spent hours and hours bouncing on the bed – by himself or with his cousins – falling face-first or jumping onto his butt.  Sometimes Chris would come in and start a pillow fight with him and he’d struggle to catch his breath from laughing so hard.

We also got to enjoy some time with friends.  It’s an aspect of living in Tennessee that I know Chris has missed the most.  The value of good friends cannot be overstated, and it was so nice to hang out and play cards, or drink a beer and cook out while catching up and laughing about old times.

Chris’ good friend, Ron, took us fishing in Arkansas one morning. We got up at the crack of dawn and drove to Memphis to cross the bridge into Arkansas to Horseshoe Lake. We had a couple of setbacks so didn’t get on the lake until a little later than we’d hoped and the wind was much stronger than we anticipated. This meant that that fishing conditions were poor, but at least we weren’t melting in the sun. Plus I still caught the biggest fish, so the day was still a success.

We also got to visit with some family that we hadn’t seen in a while, including Mammaw.  She is Junior’s Great Grandmother, and they certainly don’t come any greater.  She was tickled to see Junior running around and playing and giggling, and he had fun visiting with her.  

Junior got to meet some of our friends’ kids too, many of whom were the same age as Junior.  He took a particular liking to Elizabeth, who was just a few months older than Junior.  Unfortunately at the time of their meeting both children had failed to nap that day, so tempers were short and emotions were high.  Junior couldn’t figure out how to express his undying love for Elizabeth so spent most of the evening either biting her face or trying to kiss and hug her against her will.  When she refused, he’d rear back and swing for her as we lunged to intervene.  Nonetheless, I did manage to get a few adorable shots of their “first date”; a ride in the toy jeep, sweetly pulled along by Elizabeth’s big brother, Sawyer.

Junior also got to play with our friend’s boys, Lawson, Lincoln and Slayte.  They have a back yard that is every kid’s dream; a small pool, a trampoline, a swing set, a rope swing, a hammock, a sandbox, a tree house, and lots of big toy 4x4s.  Junior’s driving skills certainly leave something to be desired, but he tried his best and has his father’s scowl when he is concentrating.  This gave us a good laugh.

We also got to spend some time with our nieces and nephew.  Alexis, Maliyah, and Rudy are such great, fun kids.  They love to learn and get involved with whatever we are doing – no matter how boring it may seem to us, but they make it fun.  They had a blast helping me wash the camper one day, and loved staying up late to help Uncle Chris pack up all his tools.  They came on walks with me in the mornings, going 2-3 miles around the neighborhood in that dreaded heat.  I chuckled as they chattered amongst themselves:

“It’s really hot.  I wish I had some water.  I should have brought my water.”

“Aunt Rachael, is it much further than the next house?”

“How many miles have we walked now, it feels like 10.”

“Is it over 100 degrees?  What about 200?”

“How many minutes have we been walking? It feels like we’ve been walking for 100 minutes.”

“It’s so hot my face is red.  Aunt Rachael, is my face red?”

As we walked I thought, these kids won’t want to ever walk anywhere again.  But as we returned home, Maliyah asked me, “can we go again tomorrow and do a longer walk?”  Rudy and Alexis asked the same and it was like music to my ears to hear those kids excited to get outside and exercise with me.  I don’t mind the complaints of the heat, the aching legs, the long distance; I believe that it’s important for kids to voice these things and learn to articulate how they’re feeling.  It makes them become more aware of their own feelings which is the first step in learning to deal with your own emotions.  It’s also an important part of self care for kids to check how their body feels and how their mind feels and be able to express it accurately.  What may seem like an expression of misery, is actually just them learning to cope with feeling this way.  To me, it’s wonderful to hear, especially when it’s followed by a request to go again.

The kids also had a blast playing with Junior.  They chased around the house, up and down the stairs, pulling faces and cackling with joy as Junior ran around with them.  Junior took a particular liking to Rudy.  When Rudy stayed in the camper with us, Junior would wake in the morning and sit on the edge of his bunk staring at Rudy and smiling.  When Rudy would arrive to stay for the weekend Junior’s face would light up and he’d run and give him a big hug.  He also loved goofing off with Maliyah, who had the most energy and silliness to match Junior’s.  The two of them would chase after each other laugh wildly which gave me a welcome break and tired Junior out nicely.

We also got to take Junior and Rudy to the Safari park to feed some animals. They had a blast feeding and looking at the zebras, giraffes, camels, ostriches, bison and alpacas. Though it was blisteringly hot, it was a fun experience.

By the end of the month, though, we were more than ready to be heading back to our mountains.  We had sorely missed the majestic peaks, the chirp of the woodland birds, and the cool, peaceful mountain breeze.  I had missed my late nights staying up and talking by the fire with Chris about anything and everything.  We missed our hideaway from society.  We missed our home.

On our last day we got packed up and pulled out of the driveway around midday.  It was a little later and hotter than we’d planned, but we had managed to get everything packed away safely so we could hit the road once again. We were so excited to leave the heat behind and get to our next stop in Alabama.  We both looked at each other and said “you know it’s bad when you’re looking forward to Alabama.”

#32: Westward Bound

On Wednesday, July 1st, we packed up and set off for a month-long trip to Tennessee. We have some affairs to get in order there and both wanted a break from the stresses of work so we could have some time together as a family. We get few family days to enjoy together as Chris has been working so much and I usually have volunteer obligations at the park, so this was a good way to kill two birds with one stone.

We got packed up on Tuesday night for the most part. By 10am on Wednesday we were loaded up and ready to head down the mountain. This part of the drive turned into a bit of a skiing adventure momentarily and we skied down the gravel service road from the maintenance complex. Thankfully, Chris managed to maintain enough control to get us safely to the bottom and away we went. Junior spent the drive either napping or watching Home Alone on his new DVD player – a kind gift from his Tronny (my mother) and now our most treasured possession. We owe our peaceful drive entirely to her.

Though storms were forecast for the day we actually got remarkably lucky with the weather.  As we drew closer to Alabama the moving day jitters melted away and we arrived at our destination at around 2pm CST having gained an hour when we crossed the Alabama line.

Cheaha State Park was our home for the night and it was a fine choice, if I may say so myself.  The park is the highest point in Alabama.  Though the elevation is only 2,407 ft, it was a good transition point for us and still boasted the cooler mountain breezes we’ve grown so accustomed to, and some pretty stunning vistas.

Our reservation was for the lower campground which was toward the bottom of the mountain nestled in a valley next to Cheaha Lake. Arriving and setting up in the heat of the day put us in the mood for a dip so we promptly changed into our swimming gear and headed back out.

The lake was beautiful and the water was perfectly tepid.  The rocky peak of the mountain towered above us and we had the whole lake to ourselves.  We splashed around for an hour or so and Junior had a blast throwing big rocks into the lake and watching them sink to the sandy bottom.  It felt like our first real little family getaway – just us, no stress or worry, surrounded by wild nature.  I sat on the sand and listened to Junior cackling with delight as he splashed around with his Papa.  I think we all felt in that moment that we could have stayed there for an eternity.

But alas, dinnertime beckoned us back to the camper for some roasted veggies and smoked sausage.  After dinner we headed to the top of the mountain to Bald Rock for a walk.  The drive was stunning and we weaved through magnificent boulder fields and passed a few deer on our way to the top.

The short 1 mile trail consisted of a boardwalk elevated a few feet above the forest floor. It wound through the rugged ridge-top forest surrounded by lichen-covered boulders and twisted, gnarled trees. Chris and I remarked how we’d never seen so much lichen and that the landscape had a sort of eerie and ominous sense to it that was strikingly beautiful. “Cheaha” is derived from the Creek Indians who named the mountain “Cheaha” meaning high place. Roaming the landscape here and taking in its mysterious vibe, I was struck by what the Native American People must have seen in this land.

Of course, Junior had no time to notice this and he spent the entire walk charging up and down the boardwalk at full speed, only stopping momentarily here and there to gawp upwards at the towering tree tops. 

The trail ended at Bald Rock which provided a sweeping view to the West across the lower, flatter 400,000 acres of Talladega National Forest. We soaked in that breeze for a short while before heading back down the trail to the truck and we vowed to come back on our way home.

Chris and I indulged in a glass of wine for me and a beer for him that evening. We sat outside talking into the night and critically analyzing a Sturgill Simpson album. Though it’s the sort of thing we do regularly, the absence of the stresses and frustrations of everyday life as well as the change of scenery made it feel special. It was the perfect end to our mini family vacation.

The next morning we got packed up and, once again, managed to get on the road by 10am. Junior never made a peep for the whole 6 hour drive and was content with Home Alone and snacks. We got so lucky with the weather again, in fact we got lucky in just about every way with our trip. Every traffic light seemed to be green and every stop sign seemed to be clear.

That is, except for one heart-stopping moment. Coming out of the park there was a large dump truck in the middle of the road which forced us over and into the steep verge. This left the camper sliding down the bank off the road. Chris stepped on the accelerator and pulled us out in the nick of time. It was otherwise a very pleasant trip.

Around 2pm we stopped in Tupelo, MS at Veterans Memorial Park to stretch our legs. We thought it was a good, open space to let the boys run around and get some fresh air before the final stretch of our journey. But as we opened the doors and stepped out, the thick, heavy heat belted me in the face and about took me off my feet. I immediately began reconsidering my decision.

Junior had fun giggling at the ducks on the lake and Devon rolled happily in the grass as Chris and I tried our best not to collapse from the heat exhaustion. It wasn’t long before we were retreating back to the cramped quarters of the truck for the solace of the air conditioning.

Another 2 hours later and we finally made it to Chris’ parents’ house. As I stepped out of the truck the heat just about made me pass out. My head was immediately pounding and the sweat dripped from every inch of my body. 94 degrees (35 Celsius), 90% humidity, no trees for shade and not a lick of a breeze. Welcome to Tennessee. You’re not in the mountains now.

As Chris stepped out of the truck we looked at each other and said, with a shake of the head and a defeated grin, “shit, it’s gonna be a long month.”

We began setting the camper and getting things set up as quickly as possible, but ran into a snag. The outlet Chris’ Dad had gotten installed in the garage was the wrong one – we couldn’t plug our camper in. No power means no air conditioning. This was devastating news to me.

I was born in Canada and raised in England – I am biologically not cut out for these temperatures.  Chris laughs at me for my inability to handle the heat here.  I’m truly in awe of how anyone can actually function in these conditions.  It’s crippling to me, both physically and mentally.  In the last few years in the south I have found that summers often bring on dizzy spells and light headedness that has left me very close to passing out.  I get dehydrated quickly and I struggle to think straight.  No amount of water seems to help and I spend the height of the summer mostly inside – at least in the middle of the day.

So the lack of air conditioning was a deal breaker and I was close to suggesting we just find a nearby park to go to. Chris jumped in the truck and went out looking for a replacement receptacle to fix the problem. Meanwhile, I waited for his return outside. Devon doesn’t get along with other dogs at all so he couldn’t be in the house with my in-laws’ 2 dogs. He couldn’t go in the camper as it was close to 100 degrees (38 Celsius) in there even with the windows open. So I had to hang out with him in the front yard and wait for my husband to come to the rescue.

As Chris always does, he fixed it up and just before I completely melted in the heat, we finally had the a/c back on. Of course, by this point, I looked like I had just stepped out of a shower fully clothed.

I had hoped that the evening would bring cooler temperatures but alas it was not to be. The evening air was only mildly less stifling. As Chris and I laid down in bed that night with the a/c set as low as possible, we realized that we were in for a long, uncomfortable month with minimal outdoor activity. It was certainly a big shock to the system – one that we logically knew would occur but still knocked me sideways when we arrived. I’m hoping we get lucky with the weather and that there’ll be some rainy and overcast days so we can get out and go for some walks by the Mississippi river. But until this weather changes I’ll be in the camper hiding from the sun. Come hang out, but bring me something cold ✌️❤️

#28: The Tiger King of Black Rock and Other Strange Characters

Living in a campground – especially a short term stay one – means witnessing the many different types of people who arrive here.  As we are beginning to learn, each park has its own individual vibe which, in turn, attracts different clientele.  At Tugaloo we found the clientele to be rather middle of the road sorts: mostly working class, mostly families, mostly folks that came for the lake and didn’t care much for hiking or fitness but enjoyed the good cell service and cable TV.  Vogel, on the other hand, attracted a different group: lots of families, many of whom had been coming to Vogel for generations; lots of fitness fanatics; many families who were looking to escape wifi, TV, and cell service, and most of whom were somewhat higher income than those at Tugaloo.

Then there’s Black Rock Mountain.

Perhaps it’s the park’s isolated and somewhat ominous location at the top of a mountain peak, often hidden in the clouds.  Perhaps it’s the fact that novice hikers, or even intermediate hikers, are often deterred by the fact that everywhere is uphill and akin to cliff climbing rather than gentle hiking.  Perhaps it’s even the current pandemic that has turned the world upside down, shaken it around, and landed all the strange characters here.  Either way, we’ve seen some interesting folk here in the last few weeks.

Despite the “stay at home” order, our Governor has bizarrely insisted that campgrounds and trails should remain open and actively encouraged visitors to the park.  It’s baffling, but that’s southern politics and businessmen as politicians for you.  So here we are, in the middle of a global pandemic where every other country in the world has shut down non-essential travel, and Georgia is vacation central.

There’s been significant frustration from all the volunteers and park staff surrounding this issue.  We have constant anxiety about the campers that are flooding into the park.  We are operating on a skeleton staff too.  Seasonal employees have not been allowed to return to work (and have been blocked from filing for unemployment – totally unfair) because of the stay at home order, many housekeepers have quit for fear of exposure, and we’re seeing summertime levels of park traffic.  The increased traffic amongst the madness has led to arrests at other parks of people intentionally coughing in rangers’ faces, and parks being temporarily shut down after being overrun by lunchtime.  Images from Cloudland Canyon showed over 130 cars lined up on the highway waiting to get in.

Our biggest fear, and that of our fellow hosts, is the campers and their refusal to adhere to social distancing guidelines.  I’ve had people walk right up to me, within a couple of feet, and start talking to me.  Even as I step backward away, they keep coming until I tell them to stop and step away from me.  It’s not a nice feeling – I don’t like making people feel uncomfortable but in this new world we have our health to think about.  I’ve also had one man walk straight up to Junior in his stroller, tickle him, then pick up his cracker and give it to him.  No matter how many signs are out, people don’t seem to care to obey – it’s business as usual for them.

We also had a camper staying for a week or so on one site that raised some issues.  After a few days, our fellow hosts remarked how they had seen no one come or go from the camper since its arrival and there was no water hooked up to the camper.  They raised the rather morbid but very possible point that the campers could be dead inside the camper and we wouldn’t know.  

So, out of concern for their wellbeing, one of the rangers went and knocked on the door.  The occupants refused to open the door, simply calling out from inside that they were ok, everything is ok, but that they didn’t want to open the door.  This was not comforting.  At the next meeting we raised concerns about the fact that these people could be sick and self-quarantining at the park.  But with no water hooked up to their camper they must be using the bathrooms – the same bathrooms we were cleaning everyday.  This raised our anxiety significantly, but with strict orders to remain open, we had no choice but continue on with our regular duties.

Another set of campers spent 2 days camping here from middle Georgia.  For their short stay here they packed 2 large SUVs full of – what I assume to be – everything they owned, and then spread it all out around their site upon arrival.  There were make-shift clotheslines with underwear and such pegged out, a tent with make-shift shelters built around it, and even a wooden rocking chair.  The two very large women occupying the site laid out for 2 days in skimpy bikinis at the front of their site waving to passersby.

There was also a family that came camping; a father and 3 children.  They were tent campers and occupied a site near Jesse and Kaci.  At 5am Jesse awoke to the sound of doors slamming and children screaming.  Concerned that it could be a bear or campers in danger, Jesse went to investigate.  Outside he found the father and the children running around their site with the fire smoking.  Jesse asked if everything was ok and the father told him that they were just cold.  So Jesse informed him that there’s a quiet time policy between 10pm and 7am so asked that they be considerate of people sleeping.

When Jesse got up a few hours later he saw that the family had left and their fire pit was now completely ablaze.  He also noticed that the door to the trash complex was wide open so he went close it.  Inside he found all of the family’s camping equipment; 4 chairs, blow up mattresses, sleeping bags, 4 person tent, camping stove – all of it brand new, the packaging in there too.  It seems the father, probably growing increasingly desperate having been stuck in the house with his kids for weeks, had attempted to take them camping.  It seems he likely didn’t know what he was doing at all and abandoned his venture – new equipment and all – before sunrise.  We all had a good chuckle at that, and Jesse got some free camping gear out of it.

Then the Tiger King arrived.

Of course, it wasn’t THE Tiger King (or Joe Exotic), he’s in prison.  But this guy could easily be from the same circus.  So we referred to him as Joe Exotic because we didn’t know his real name and it seemed to fit him well.

The first time I saw Joe Exotic he was out by his rig.  His rig was a large Discovery motorhome that looked like a decommissioned tour bus.  The thing was bigger than my last apartment.  It was an older model bearing a few small dents and rust spots here and there, but he seemed to take reasonable care of it.  The first time I saw him he was outside pressure washing the camper.  This is not unusual for RVers so I didn’t pay him much attention, just drove on by and went about my business.  

When I came back by, however, I had to stop.

He was around the side of his rig before and I had barely glanced in his direction.  This time though, he was out front pressure washing the gravel on the site next to him.  This bizarre act and his attire caught my attention.

He wore old brown leather cowboy boots – creased and scuffed from years of wear.  Between the boots and the black basketball shorts peeked his white, pencil-thin, smooth, veiny legs that seemed to get lost in the excess material from his oversized shorts.  On top he wore not just one, but two long sleeved acid-washed denim shirts.  The outer layer had the sleeves torn off and black lettering on the back referencing some motorcycle company or club in Florida.  On his head he wore a dusty brown felt cowboy hat over his straggly brown hair which was pulled back into a ponytail.  His approximate 5 day stubble and John Lennon-style glasses really finished off the look and, as I watched him standing there on the top of a mountain in the middle of a pandemic washing gravel I knew… this guy does a lot of cocaine.

He seemed pretty harmless, after all he wasn’t bothering anyone.  He certainly wasn’t achieving anything, but washing gravel wasn’t exactly a reason to be afraid of or angry at the guy, so we let him be.

A few days later I was talking to Jesse and Kaci, the other hosts, and it seems that Joe Exotic was getting a little lonely and was often seen roaming around with a leaf blower, blowing off campsites.  He had made several attempts to try and befriend Jesse – a bearded, tattooed, ex-military fella with a kind heart and a somewhat intimidating physique.  Jesse is a great guy with a wicked sense of humor and an easy-going attitude once you get to know him but – at least under current circumstances – he tends to vibrate on a high frequency and has a significant fear of getting sick.  So he doesn’t take kindly to being approached by random members of the public right now.  But, like us, they are stuck here until things open up again.

When Joe Exotic approached him for the 4th or 5th time and got too close, Jesse had stopped holding back and firmly told the guy to remain on his own site.  Joe failed to heed these warnings from Jesse and things escalated somewhat when Joe came over to Jesse’s site one day to tell him that he had unplugged the Christmas lights from the trading post in an effort to be helpful.  What Joe failed to consider is that his attempt to be helpful was causing more anxiety than good; he was walking around touching everything, breathing on everything.  Though he just wanted to be friends, he was going about it all the wrong way and at the totally wrong time.

So Jesse laid into him a little and told him to stop f****** touching everything and stay on his site.  Like a lost little puppy Joe apologized  profusely and returned to his site.  Jesse felt bad, but also didn’t at all because this guy was jeopardizing everyone.  This seemed to work fairly well and although he could still be found some days wandering around with a leaf blower, he mostly kept to his own site after that and out of trouble.

Until he found new ways to irritate Jesse and the other park staff.

One weekend we had a pretty big storm come through.  The storm swept across the south from West to East, dropping tornadoes as it went and killing dozens of people along the way.  The worst of the storm, and the worst threat for tornadoes, arrived in the dead of night around 2am.  Spring storms are pretty scary anyway, but at night, in a camper, on the side of a mountain?  That’s pretty darn scary.  So I stayed up that night watching the news in case there were reports of tornadoes in the area.

Around 2:45am Jesse and Kaci were awakened – not because of the powerful wind howling away and rocking the camper side to side – but rather because Joe Exotic was sounding a deafening air-horn from his camper, just 40 feet from Jesse and Kaci.  It seems that old Joe Exotic was up all night too, but probably for substance-related reasons, and decided to warn everyone that there was a storm.  Jesse did not find this amusing.  Furthermore, Joe called Jessica, the park manager, at 3am to tell her there was a storm coming.  Jessica, at home in bed, also did not find this amusing.

Tiger King only stayed a few more days after that.  I was a little sad when I saw his rig pulling out one day, knowing I likely wouldn’t see him again.  He was an odd character but had provided some entertainment for us through this dark time and, in other circumstances, I’d have loved to learned more about his story.  Jesse was delighted to see the back of him, of course, though I think he’ll miss him a little too.

We’re glad that we aren’t in the campground and don’t have to worry about possibly infected strangers coming up to our site and interacting with us.  I do miss people-watching and interacting with people from all walks of life.  A couple from New York has been staying for a few weeks now and told Jesse that they left out before the lockdown happened hoping to escape the madness.  I can’t help but wonder what compelled them to come to Georgia, how they feel about that decision now, whether they’d make the same decision again, and where they’re planning to go next.

There are many stories to be told in the campground, now more than ever.  I hope that when things calm down I’ll have a chance to hear some of them and maybe tell them.  For now, though, I’ll stick to my own campfire a little longer.

#25: A Place to Rest

We’ve been at Black Rock a few days now and had a chance to settle in.  We’ve met some folks, explored a little, and the place is quickly feeling like home.

Junior and Devon have really made themselves at home.  They have spent hours frolicking on the grass, running through (or away from, in Devon’s case) the sprinkler, digging in the gravel, and laying in the sun.

Being on the side of a the mountain with no surrounding peaks, there tends to be a more steady, cooling breeze here – this has been a welcome addition on these hot spring days.  The lack of tree cover is both a blessing and a curse.  While we are safe from falling limbs in the spring storms, we have no shade cover for the camper which means we will be using the a/c a lot in the coming months.  

The people here all seem very friendly and the place has a generally more relaxed vibe.  The park is generally quieter than Vogel which eases some anxiety related to the current coronavirus pandemic.  I expressed concerns about cleaning bathrooms with the rangers and they were understanding and have been very accommodating.

The sense of urgency that Vogel is shrouded in because of its popularity seems a distant notion here.  When we went to run some errands on our second day here, we discovered the gate to the complex was closed and we had been locked in.  I called the ranger to come and let us out and he said he’d be down soon but that “nobody was in a hurry here”.  I found this to be comforting.  Everyone seems laid back and easy going which certainly eases my anxiety about juggling life as a host with being a mother to a very busy little boy.

Black Rock Mountain State Park is the highest (elevation) park in Georgia and sits at 3,640 ft straddling the Eastern Continental Divide.  With no higher peaks surrounding it, there are impressive vistas and panoramic views throughout the park.  The majority of the park sits atop the narrow ridge of Black Rock Mountain meaning the trails are challenging but the scenery is spectacular.  On a clear day, a short hike up to the scenic overlook at Tennessee Rock provides views across four states: North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, and, of course, Georgia.  Established in 1952, what the park lacks in history it makes up for in stunning scenery.

The view from Cowee Overlook en route to the visitors center.
A little further up the mountain at Blue Ridge Overlook.

The park encompasses over 1700 acres across Black Rock Mountain and the 4 surrounding peaks and includes the 17 acre Black Rock Lake.  The lack of higher peaks surrounding it means that the majority of the park is exposed to the weather.  This coupled with the sheer rock faces and giant boulders gives the landscape a particular rugged beauty.

The view looking from the visitors center over Clayton below and South Carolina beyond.
Junior at the Visitors Center overlook musing at the buzzards flying overhead.

Because of its location on the top of a narrow ridge, the park facilities are rather spread out. The campground, significantly smaller than Vogel, features 44 campsites for tents, trailers, and RVs split into 2 loops (each with its own bathhouse). There are a further 12 “walk-in” sites on a separate loop for tent campers only. Virtually every campsite at the park boasts views across Northeast Georgia, South Carolina, and North Carolina, with some having up to 240 degree views.

The view from Nantahala Overlook in the campground.

Black Rock is a little less family-friendly than Vogel, however. The steep drop offs on either side of the campground, the lack of any play park, and the level of experience required for most of the trails means that it can be difficult to keep kids entertained in the park. While fishing and paddling (canoes, kayaks, and trolling motors) are allowed in the lake, swimming is prohibited.

Sunset over Black Rock Lake.

For the truly outdoorsy family, couples, or friends looking for a somewhat wilderness adventure packed with beauty and just a 10 minute drive to local eateries and boutiques – Black Rock State Park is an excellent choice.

We’ve been fortunate in our first few days here.  Although the current pandemic has caused some cancellations to some of Chris’ jobs giving way to some financial woe for us, the silver lining is that Junior and I get to have him home with us for a few days.  As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing better in life.  Throw in some warm, sunny days and that’s a recipe for some Seeley family adventures.

On our first sunny day at the park Chris was itching to go fishing for the first time in a while.  So he loaded his fishing poles in the truck, I got the backpack carrier, and we all headed down to the lake.  

While Chris wet a line, Junior and I took ourselves on a little hike to explore the area.  We took the short lake trail to begin with.  This trail hugs the banks of the vibrant blue-green water for approximately 0.85 miles.  Junior had a great time giggling at the ducks and mimicking their quacking.  He got a real kick out of it when they began diving and their little feathered butts were sticking up in the air.

Next we decided to explore a little bit of the James E. Edmonds trail.  This is the park’s backcountry trail and, though it is only an approximately 7.2 mile loop, it features challenging terrain and some pretty steep inclines.  One section of the trail includes a particularly gruesome 1000 ft elevation gain in one short mile.  

A Southern Woodland Violet marks the trail to the lake and mountains beyond.
A Native Violet dancing in the gentle lake breeze.
These Philadelphia Fleabanes are popping up all around the lake.

Signs of spring were everywhere.  The Christmas Ferns, some of the coolest little sprouts in spring, are abundant on the forest floor.  This time of year they resemble little green, furry worms curled up and protruding from the ground as they slowly stretch and come to life like everything else in the spring.  

A Christmas Fern getting ready to spring into life.

For obvious reasons, we didn’t attempt the entire trail, but did manage to do about a couple of miles of exploration.  The cool mountain air made it a great day for a hike through the woods.  The rugged landscape was littered with mossy rocks and dry leaves with specks of the blue, purple, yellow and white wildflowers beginning to push their way through the forest floor.  Underground streams created some small – and some very large – tunnels and caves throughout the mountainside, filled with moss and dripping with natural spring water.  In other places the water poured over the gigantic boulders and veins of biotite gneiss, the dark colored rock that runs through the Blue Ridge Mountains and gives the park its name.  

The trail passing over one of the many mountain streams.
More mountain streams.

We followed the trail, crossing the many trickling streams, until we heard the distant sound of rushing water enticing us further.  We rounded a ridge to find a 10 ft waterfall cascading down the face of the smooth, black rock and spilling into a small, sandy pool at its base; the perfect secluded swimming hole for Junior on a hot spring or summer day. 

The rays of sunlight piercing through the canopy glimmered on the water. The lush greens of the wild magnolias gently draping over the stream, the many forest ferns and the moss that seemed to slowly claim every inch of nearby rock made this spot feel like something created in a dream.  We sat for a minute and rested, listening to the chirp of the forest birds and the water running over the rock.  

The waterfall and sandy pool – a place we’ll return to better prepared and with more time for Junior to play.

Before long it was time to head back to find Chris and get some dinner for the kid.  I snapped my pictures and we set off back down the mountain toward the lake, satisfied with a few good shots and the promise to return with more time.  

There are more trails to explore here, and the taste I’ve had of them so far makes me restless for a chance to get back out.  With all the madness going on in the world right now it seems almost to be divine providence that we have found such a perfect place to take life a little slower.  Our escape from the hustle and bustle of Vogel has landed us in a place of beauty and peace and we couldn’t be happier for it.

#22: Camping with Corona?

You may not have heard, so let me catch you up; there’s a pandemic afoot.

The whole world has gone mad for toilet paper and handshaking is becoming an archaic greeting of days past.  Basketball and Baseball have been cancelled, and Tom Hanks is in quarantine with Wilson.  Schools are closed and workers everywhere are discovering the bliss of working from bed in their underwear.  Italy is a red zone and Europe has been effectively cut off from the USA.  Many Americans are now living in toilet paper forts with hand sanitizer moats.  What even is normal anymore?

Image result for toilet paper hoarding

Here in the mountains life is much the same, until the last few days.  With the spread of the virus taking over, the pandemic is even becoming evident in our tiny little community of Blairsville, GA.  All local schools have been shut down and parents seem to be bulk buying liquor and wine.  On a trip to Home Depot earlier this week to get some basic DIY supplies for the camper I was met in the parking lot with panic buyers toting supply carts piled high with mega packs of toilet paper – a behavior that is terribly puzzling to me.  

I left Home Depot to get some gas (now hovering around $2.00 to the gallon, the silver lining of all this) and get a couple of bits for dinner from the grocery store.  It seems people had lost their minds there, however, as upon arrival I found the parking lot slammed full of cars and a long line of cars waiting to get in.  The gas pumps were no different and I had to wait 10 minutes to get gas.  With a hungry baby in the back seat and lunch time fast approaching, I decided it was best to abandon the grocery run in the interest of not compromising the kid’s nap time, which I have come to hold dear to my sanity.

In the last few days I have watched as other full time RVers across the country have been posting about the eviction notices they’ve received from the RV parks who are closing due to the Corona virus and State parks have now shut down in several states.  This has been cause for concern for us, as we never factored such occurrences into our plan when we set out on this adventure 6 months ago.  While we do have options – mostly because the very nature of our existence is mobile and therefore we’re easily relocated – it’s still unsettling and would interfere with Chris’ business and our overall plan. 

But c’est la vie.  It could always be worse.

And for a while there it was worse.  After Christmas, as previously mentioned, Junior and I caught the flu.  This was a dark period in the history of our RVing adventure, and one which we hoped would pass quickly.  

But as the weeks went by I struggled to recover.  I suffered with significant congestion, blinding headaches, exhaustion, chest pain, and brief periods of losing my voice.  It was endless and relentless.  It made no sense.  Chris wasn’t getting sick, Junior had a runny nose but otherwise seemed ok.  I’m generally a healthy person – I eat well, I drink lots of water, and I’m usually pretty active.  But this thing was not shifting.

I won’t lie, there were moments where it had crossed my mind that this could be the infamous virus that was afflicting me. With the CDC having sent out faulty tests for COVID-19 for so long, there was no real way of telling where the virus had spread to, and there have been a number of confirmed cases in Georgia and recently one death from COVID-19.

Then one night Chris and I were lying in bed watching a movie.  I stretched up and ran my hand along the back of the mattress and a chill ran through my body.  I felt the blood rush through my belly and I sat up.  

“Get up” I said to Chris.  He looked a little puzzled.  “I mean it; get up.”

“What is it?” He said wearily pulling himself up out of bed.  

“Damp.”  I said flatly.

We stood up and pulled the mattress off the platform of the bed and there, clear as day, was the answer to that incessant question: why can’t I get well?

Mold.  Every RVer’s worst nightmare.

As mentioned in a previous post, moisture is the enemy of all RVs.  It destroys a rig fast and, as we learned the hard way, can destroy your health even quicker.  

Oh my god, I’ve been sleeping on it.  EVERY NIGHT.

Everything made sense.  I had been telling Chris that when I came outside I often felt a little better and the congestion would at least ease up.  But there were so many days where I woke up feeling so terrible that I didn’t feel up to even stepping outside for a cigarette.  Chris had even had to do the daycare run for me when I was really unwell.  Now it was clear that it was a vicious circle whereby the worse I felt and the more I rested to try and get better, the worse I would feel because I was resting on the very source of my illness.  Chris hadn’t been getting sick because he was allergic to mold like I am, and he wasn’t spending even half of the time in the RV that I was.

I felt nauseated looking at it.  But I felt relieved that now we knew and maybe I could finally, FINALLY get some relief.  

We spent the next few days and a few hundred bucks getting some supplies to tackle the issue.  We had naively believed that running the dehumidifier 24/7 would be enough to rid us of any chance of mold growing.  It turns out that was a costly mistake.

We scrubbed the mattress several times with rubbing alcohol and propped it up daily to dry with the windows open and fans running.  We ordered 3 vent covers for our roof vents (like plastic skylights).  The vent covers allowed us to crack the vents open, even in the rain, without the risk of rain coming in through the vent.  This seems to have made the biggest difference to the air quality inside the camper.  I spent an afternoon up on the roof, with the help of a maintenance guy from the park who is a friend of ours, installing these on the vents.  

We also got a Den Dry mattress underlay.  It’s about an inch thick, made of spun plastic, and sort of resembles bubble wrap in its shape.  The purpose of it is to lift the mattress off the platform and allow airflow between the two to prevent condensation from getting trapped and creating a breeding ground for mold.

Lastly we purchased an air purifier.  This filters out the mold spores, dust, pet dander, pollen, and all other yucky things from the air so I can breathe a little better and sleep a little easier.

It’s been about 2 weeks since all this happened and I am almost back to normal now, with only mild congestion and a lingering cough.  It feels wonderful to finally have my energy back and be able to do things with ease again.  It certainly makes life as Mom to Junior much more manageable – it takes a great deal of energy to keep up with that kid nowadays.  

Once again it seems we had to learn valuable lessons the hard way.  While the mold, the endless rain, and the looming threat of invasion from the corona virus has certainly placed a significant black cloud over the winter of 2019/2020 for us – our first winter in the camper – we have still managed to weather this storm intact as a family.  

Chris has worked hard through the winter and come home each night to take over baby duties and look after me.  We have addressed the issues within the camper and learned valuable lessons on how to proceed through the winter in a rig.  If COVID-19 does displace us then, even in the worst case scenario, we will embark on an adventure to Tennessee and take the opportunity to spend some time with family.  The beauty of our situation is that it allows us to adapt more readily to whatever life throws our way.  If things fall apart in Georgia we can fall back on Tennessee.  If things fall apart in the US then we’ll haul our home up to Canada.  With just a day’s notice we can relocate ourselves wherever necessary and make an adventure of it.

For now though, we’ll take a deep breath of clean air, stick with a normal amount of toilet paper, and proceed with business as usual until we hear otherwise.

Finally feeling better, at Brasstown Bald.

#21: I’m still alive

This winter has been the winter to which all future winters will be measured against. We have endured the flu, colds, sinus and ear infections, stomach bugs with some serious vomiting, a motorcycle accident, snow, then 70 degree sunshine, then torrential rain and flooding, tornado warnings, then more snow, and a dangerous lack of hiking and fireside time.

It’s been a rough go round, but we’ve survived this far and I’m fiercely clinging to the notion that spring time will bring brighter days.

We knew that putting Junior in daycare would result in exposure to more germs and thus lots of sick days, but this has been a real shock to the system from a kid who never had so much as a runny nose for the first 12 months of his life. But he has been a real trooper through it all and I’m delighted to say that he’s faced it all with a cheeky smile and an undying love for his dog whom he snuggles with daily.

Chris gave it a good old college try at scaring me half to death a couple of weeks ago. Junior went down for a nap one afternoon and Chris decided it was a good time to go for a ride on his motorcycle. I rolled my eyes and begrudgingly gave him a goodbye kiss. Not 20 mins later I got the call that I dread receiving every time he goes riding. But it wasn’t quite how I’d played it in my head 100 times before.

“Hey, what’s our permanent address?”

“Why?”

“Just give me the address!”

Oh god, he’s been pulled over for speeding. I’m gonna kill him. How many bloody times have I told him to be bloody careful on that bloody…

“Ok, I need you to come and pick me up, I’ve had an accident.”

I believe my heart may have actually stopped had he not been on the phone and talking to me. This one fact is about all that kept me together as I woke the baby from his nap, strapped him into his car seat, and tried to keep my hands from shaking as I drove down the mountain anxious to see what condition my husband was actually in.

As it turns out, Chris was downtown (thankfully) when the accident happened. An old man failed to look before pulling out right in front of Chris. With no time to react he slammed right into the side of the car and flipped over it. His hips and groin slammed into the handlebars and seem to have taken the brunt of the blow. Miraculously, however, he suffered relatively minor injuries compared to the many scenarios that had played in my mind before. Though badly bruised and barely able to walk, he suffered no broken bones and I cannot overstate how thankful I am that my husband came home that day.

Chris being Chris, he immediately started talking about getting another bike that night. We very rarely argue at all nowadays, but I sure felt one boiling up with that statement. Sure, I have compassion and empathy for the loss of his hobby and I understand that everyone needs a little escapism now and then. But it’s time to get a new hobby.

Despite emotions being high, we managed a calm and open discussion on the issue. We arrived at the compromise that Chris would use the insurance money to get a boat. This way he would have his “toy” to go and have some Papa time with, but this toy wouldn’t cause me extreme anxiety every time he wanted to use it. Though Chris is still grieving the loss of his dear machine (that we got married on), it’s a compromise that we both feel pretty good about. And I promised him that one day there would be a day, when Junior is much older, where I would definitely be on board with getting another motorcycle or two.

So all this to say: winter 2019/2020 has been a bugger. But we are all still here and all still together, so life isn’t so bad. The last couple of months have been very trying and admittedly has caused, at times, some resentment for living this lifestyle. But with spring around the corner and a new adventure at Black Rock Mountain on the horizon, I’m desperately hoping it’ll bring a renewed appreciation for our lifestyle.

Until then, here are a few snaps that I’ve managed to take on the odd days where I’ve felt somewhat human and been able to drag myself outside for some gentle hiking therapy.

Clouds rolling through Vogel at Lake Trahlyta.
Sunset over Lake Trahlyta
Foggy morning at Lake Trahlyta.
The same foggy morning at Lake Trahlyta.
If your eyes are open to it, there is beauty to be found even in the dreariest of times.
Lake Trahlyta.

#20: Fantastic Fire

Rain.  So much rain.  Endless rain.  The last few weeks have been filled with virtually non-stop rain and frigid temperatures.  Even on the days where there is no rain, it is so cold that nothing dries out before the next bout of rain comes in.

I can’t remember how long the rain has been sticking around now.  Maybe 2-3 weeks, maybe 5 or 6.  It feels like an eternity.

During rainy days I still manage to get outside with Junior, if only for 20-30 minutes or so at a time.  We both need the fresh air and to escape the confines of the camper each day to avoid going insane.  There is high value in quality rain gear when living in a camper for this very reason.

But the rain still presents insurmountable obstacles when it comes to evening activities.  Even when it isn’t actively raining, it is still more hassle than it is worth to try and get, and keep, a fire going in such conditions.  This coupled with the fact that we have nowhere that is truly dry to store our camping chairs, means that we are camper-bound until conditions improve.

This is doable for a few days at a time.  We usually rent a film or two and, after dinner, cuddle up in bed to watch it.  But after a couple of weeks of this it becomes monotonous and we long for the cozy fireside chats that I, for one, have come to depend on for my sanity.

Over time I have come to realize that conversation is an essential component to the success of our marriage.  This has taken various forms as our marriage and living situations have changed but has, nonetheless, remained reasonably constant.  

As mentioned in previous posts, Chris and I had a rather rocky start to our marriage.  The honeymoon period wore off quickly and we soon realized we had some fairly significant communication issues: we couldn’t.  Every time we tried to talk to each other it ended in knock-down, drag-out fights and this seriously took a toll on our marriage.

Around 3 or 4 months in, in attempt to better acclimate our dogs to each other, we began taking them on daily walks in the evening.  We lived on a dirt road that was always quiet, so we’d walk the 1.5 miles up to the stop sign at the paved road and back every day.  It wasn’t intentional, but this became one of the few things that saved our marriage from a tragically early death.  These walks began as a means of encouraging the dogs to feel like they were a part of the same pack, but it ended up having this effect on us too.

These walks became our time to check in with each other.  We talked about our days, things that were on our minds, issues with each other, hopes and dreams; whatever we wanted.  It became a chance for us to connect, and reconnect, every day.  It brought us infinitely closer.

When we moved to Lawrenceville, walking wasn’t much of an option in the evenings because Chris’ commute was so long that we didn’t have time before Junior went to bed.  Instead we would spend most evenings in our chairs in the carport chatting into the night.

The last few months, however, we have come to regard the fire pit as our sacred space.  Camp fires have always served as a hub for community, and ours is no different.  It’s a place that we have been fortunate enough to not just enjoy with each other, but also with new friends, old friends, and family.  It has become an essential part of our lives, and one that we have missed sorely in the last few dreary weeks.

The campfire is such a fantastic tool, one that I believe should have a place in every family.  Though many never consider a fire pit in their home or regular camping trips, I would strongly recommend that you do.  I believe in the power of a good campfire so strongly for many reasons.

There are many components to a successful fire.  The basic necessities for a fire are fuel, oxygen, and heat.  But a good fire requires so much more.  Much like a marriage or a friendship, it requires regular attention.  A fire must be carefully fed; too much and you’ll extinguish the heat and oxygen, not enough and it will die.  

To me, half the fun of the fire is the challenge of it.  Anyone can start a fire with kiln-dried wood and lighter fluid.  But the act of collecting kindling from the forest, splitting the logs with an axe, and carefully constructing a fire to burn optimally are all steps that shouldn’t be skipped over.  Building a fire in this way is the embodiment of one’s hard work paying off.  The more work you put in on the front end, the better the fire will be and the easier it will be to tend to.  

This is reflected in the relationships that are forged around a fire, and the poetry of it is something I ponder often.  When shortcuts are taken in building a fire it often is less-valued or enjoyed.  The feeling of working hard to get a fire going in wet conditions and then sitting back and enjoying the warmth of the roaring flames is spectacular.  The same is true for nurturing a relationship through the hard times and then feeling the strength of it in the easier times.

In a relationship like mine and Chris’, credit for every successful fire is lovingly and ruthlessly fought over.  The conversation often goes like this:

Me: “The fire is rolling.”

Chris: “You’re welcome.”

Me: “For what?? I built it and tended it.”

Chris: “But I collected the fat lighter.”

Me: “…Per my instructions. That’s just the lackey work. Besides, I’m the one that so expertly placed it within the fire for optimal burning.”

Chris: “But you wouldn’t have a fire without the fat lighter.”

Me: “I would, it just wouldn’t have gotten going as quickly.”

Chris: “Whatever dude.”

Me: “Whatever dude.”

Conversely, the blame for a poor fire is often placed on each other, despite the fact that it is usually just due to wet conditions.  This is a running joke that will likely go on for as long as we’re physically able to build a fire.  It’s funny because almost every fire we have is a team effort in which we each play an important role.  But we rarely miss a chance to criticize each other’s fire-tending skills.  It’s this competitiveness that I enjoy in our relationship so much because it pushes each of us to greater levels within ourselves through a desire to outdo the other.  It spills into almost every corner of our marriage and the campfire is no stranger to it.

We’ve had our share of calamities around the campfire too.  One evening Chris and I were having a typical dispute over the lighter.  No matter how many lighters we own, we always seem able to find only one and then good-natured bickering ensues over whose lighter it is and who stole it.  On this particular evening Chris had taken over with the fire-tending duties.  He stood up to poke at the fire for a minute before deciding that it need needed more wood.  He turned to walk to the wood pile and I turned my face away to listen to something that faintly resembled a crying baby.  In that second there was a small but mighty explosion in the fire.  Chris just about ‘hit the deck’ as if taking heavy fire, and my heart took a few seconds to restart.  Shrapnel flew from the fire and whizzed past my ear as I was sat a mere 3 feet from the explosion.  

Upon inspection we realized that Chris must have had the lighter in his lap as he stood up, knocking the lighter into the fire pit without him noticing.  After a few seconds of it heating up it exploded.  We were fortunate that neither of us sustained any injury from this, but Chris is no longer allowed flammable materials other than wood around the fire pit until his suspension is lifted.

I am also not allowed accelerants around a fire, but this is a self-imposed rule following a very close call some years ago.

At that time I spent much of my time at a friend’s house in Athens.  She had 6 acres on the river and I would spend much of my free time helping her clear the land burning the brush and trees that we cleared.  We would have proper country bonfires 10-20 feet in diameter with entire trees thrown on there, which would burn for days.

One such fire had been burning for several days until a heavy rainstorm moved through late one spring.  I got off work early after rain had cleared and, though my friend was out of town for the day, I went over to continue the burn as I often did.  Upon arrival I saw no smoke and felt no heat.  The burn pile was soaked, so I figured it was a safe assumption that the fire was truly out and would take some strong efforts to get it going again.  I grabbed the ancient metal 5 gallon gas can and doused the fire in gasoline.  As I did so, it became apparent that there were in fact embers still burning at the bottom of the pile and the stream of gasoline I was pouring ignited.  I quickly whipped my hand back and, unbeknownst to me in that moment, splashed gasoline all over my leg.  I looked down to find that some gasoline had splashed on the lip of the circular gas can that I was holding and was now on fire.

Shit.

I then had the dumbest knee-jerk reaction and launched the gas can in the air away from me.  Thankfully – and I still don’t know how – the gas can landed right way up.  When my heart began beating again I ran toward the house for the water hose.  As I turned it on I looked down to finally realize that I was on fire.  The gas I had splashed on my leg had ignited my athletic shorts and they were now melting to my leg.  I jumped about frantically beating at the flames with my hand making noises like a choking turkey and 100% forgetting all I had learned about “stop, drop, and roll”.

So with shorts melted to my leg, I jumped back into action with the water hose and ran furiously toward the burning gas can.  But alas, about 20 feet from the fire the water hose reached its end and pinged me backwards like a cartoon.  With too great a distance between the water hose and the burning gas can, I had no choice but to stand back and watch the gas can to see if it would explode.  Thankfully the flames slowly died and I escaped that day with only minor scarring, one less pair of athletic shorts, and a new understanding of what my Dad meant when he had told me as a child that “gasoline and fire don’t mix with Walshes.”

We have also enjoyed teaching others to collect wood and build fires.  I also like to people-watch and find it very telling to watch someone else tend to a fire when I can manage to relinquish control, that is).  A person’s approach to fire-building can reveal things about their own character, approaches to life, and their upbringing.

Then there’s the others who join us around the campfire.  Devon is terrified of the slightest loud noise or bang, and the pop and crackle of the fire spooks him into retreating back to the camper nightly.  But we have often enjoyed our fire with other critters.  I have looked up to find a majestic barred owl sitting but a few feet from our campsite watching us as we enjoy the fire.  We have been interrupted in conversation many times by the whooping and howling of coyotes in the night.  We have abandoned the fire entirely at times in search of whatever creature made some twigs snap in the woods behind us.  Chris has even hand fed a curious squirrel near the fire pit one afternoon.

Fire fulfills 3 basic necessities for man; warmth, light, and community.  It’s no new discovery, but even in the modern world full of social media and lightning-fast internet speeds I still believe that it will continue to serve an irreplaceable purpose.  Sure, one could obtain each of these three components from other more readily available and easily attainable means nowadays, but there’s still something undefinably unique about a campfire experience.  No one has fond memories of sitting around a radiator in their house enjoying good text conversation via social media.  Those types of memories are reserved for the magic of a campfire and the connection and sense of community that it brings.

In living this life we have gained a valuable insight into what really matters to us.  As it turns out, these long conversations by the fire are irreplaceable.  It is therefore imperative that we preserve and protect them.  Thus, when we buy our land in the mountains in the next couple of years, our first expense will be erecting a shelter under which to park the camper and place a chiminea. This way we will forever have a dry place to sit around the fire and talk until the conversation dries up and the last embers burn out.

#16: Reflections on a Rock

Most days are much the same lately.  I get up with Junior, we hang out and have breakfast, then head out to work or go on a little walk around the park.  Around 11am we come back to the camper for elevensies, a little indoor play, then it’s nap time.  After his nap, it’s lunchtime, then more walking/outdoor play, then home for dinner, indoor play, Chris comes home, bath, and finally bedtime.  The “new car smell” of Vogel has all but dissipated, and while I still love it (especially compared to the city) I have explored much of the park and am no longer surrounded by the unknown.  This coupled with the monotony of the daily routine and Chris working hard, and often late, on his current job means that I’ve once again begun to thirst for adventure.

I love staying at home with my son and watching him grow, but a year and a half without any kind of break from him, except for a handful of times where family have stepped in for a few hours, has taken its toll on me.  When we lived in the city it wasn’t an option to pay for childcare – we simply didn’t have the money.  It was either have childcare for a day or eat for a few days, so there was no point even dreaming about it.  But our new lifestyle means there’s a little wiggle room in the budget for a day care a couple days a week.  My husband, being the supportive and loving old sod that he is, has been pushing for this for a few weeks now.

I really struggled with the idea of it at first.  I felt like I was failing at my job, because it is my job, after all, to care for my son.  So putting him in day care felt like admitting that I can’t handle motherhood.  But once Junior’s molars started pushing through I realized that it was time.  The lack of “me” time left me irritable, impatient, and not the most loving of people.  I was tired from getting up with the kid several times a night, I wasn’t eating most days because I didn’t have time, I wasn’t getting a shower during the day – my overall self care had gone down the drain and my family had begun to pay for it.

So it was time.

I found a day care in Blairsville, about 20 minutes down the mountain, and called them.  As luck would have it, though they had a long waiting list, they agreed to squeeze us in because we were flexible.  After a visit to check the place out and sign some papers we were all set for Junior’s first day of day care.

This morning I dropped him off shortly after 8am.  He seemed pretty happy, though a little confused and shy, but I didn’t stick around long for fear of making it harder to leave if and when he started to have a meltdown.  I slipped out while he was distracted and my heart broke just a little when he didn’t notice, even though I know it’s really what is best for us both.  As I walked out the door and got in the truck I took a deep breath and tried to shake it off and look at the day ahead.  What shall I do with my 9 hours of freedom?

It was an easy decision.  Hiking had been on my mind since the day we pulled into Vogel and I had a bucket list of local hikes that I was itching to try.  There was one in particular that I had my eye on: Preachers Rock on the Appalachian Trail.  It looked like a relatively short and easy hike – perfect for an out of shape Mom-bod that hasn’t seen any real trail action in years.

So I drove back home, trying very hard to not keep periodically glancing in my mirror at an empty baby seat out of habit.  I wasted no time at the camper, I made some coffee, grabbed a bite to eat, threw some supplies in a backpack (eager not to repeat my last hiking disaster), grabbed my camera, and jumped back in the truck.

The trailhead begins at Woody Gap, a roughly 25 minute drive up the mountain on very narrow and winding roads.  The sun was shining and, though it was a few degrees below freezing, it was a beautiful day for such a drive.  

Devon had spent the ride, as always, laying on the passenger floorboard trying not to fall asleep.  I watched as his heavy eyelids drooped making his grey face look even older.  It reminded me of the old days when he was a pup and we lived in Athens.  He was my faithful hiking buddy back then and would leap excitedly and nimbly into the truck every weekend, eager for our next adventure.  But the black markings on his face had since turned to grey and lately his leaps lacked the spring of his younger years.  I wondered if he would be as excited for a hike as he used to be.

I arrived at the trailhead around 9:30am.  The elevation at the trailhead was 3,160ft and the view was incredible.  I knew that the hike would involve a further climb from there so this little teaser was exciting.

Woody Gap – the trailhead.

As I put the truck in park, Devon’s little head perked up and his now wide brown eyes scanned the surroundings as his tail began to wag.  He leapt out of the truck with all the vigor of his younger self and he waited for me to give the command that would let him run free.

“OK!”

He sprinted ahead down the trail and I chuckled as he frantically zipped around from exciting smell to exciting smell.  It almost felt like old times.

It was a calm morning and though the air was crisp and cool, the sun felt warm on my face.  The lack of any breeze meant it was blissfully quiet and I relished the absence of a screaming child.  As we rounded the first corner we came to a mossy rock face about 20 feet high and 50 feet across with 10 inch icicles clinging to the protrusions in the rock.  I don’t know why but I love icicles – I just think they’re really cool – so I pulled out my camera for a few shots.  But as I turned it on I was greeted with the message “no memory card” on the viewfinder.

Come on.  Seriously??

I had remembered to charge my camera.  I had remembered my lens.  I had neglected to put the damn memory card in the camera.  Rookie mistake.  That’s two for two.  Frustrated, I took a minute to express my frustrations toward the rock face, which kindly echoed my profanities back at me, making it all the more satisfying.  But I didn’t want to let it ruin my day of freedom, so I resigned myself to the fact that I’d just have to snap some pictures with my phone and come back when I was better prepared.

My sub-par pictures of icicles with a mediocre camera.

We pressed on, Devon leading the way with his soft little ears happily flapping up and down as he bounced along. The trail was surprisingly flat and easy to start out and there were some pretty views to the left through the trees across the mountains. Then the trail wound around to the right between the two peaks and into the wind. The deceptive calm of the northwest side of the mountain had lulled me into a false sense of security and as I left the shelter of the first peak the wind arrived with an icy punch. I took a second to appreciate its force, zipped up my fleece and shoved my hands into my pockets.

This is going to get chilly.

And it did. The trail began a steep incline up the second peak. The last 1/3 mile or so had an elevation gain of 500 feet and my wobbly, unfit legs felt every step of the rocky climb. The wind roared with such force that every tree was creaking and squeaking as they swayed in the bitter breeze. The higher I climbed the more vicious the wind grew until it became impossible to keep my eyes open without them tearing up.

The climb.

Eventually we made it to the top.  As I rounded the crest of the mountain the view was spectacular.  Mountain peaks stretched for miles, and the clear day meant that I could see all the way to Stone Mountain, near Atlanta, on the horizon.  Both Devon and I stood on the rock face and soaked in the view.  It’s the kind of sight that is so spectacular that you are forced to contemplate the earth as a planet and are starkly reminded of your tiny insignificant existence on it.  I sat and pondered all the life beneath me at that moment and how unaware it was that I was there.  A wave of awe came over me and I had to sit down.  

Devon soaking in the view and contemplating the big questions in life.

We spend all our time so consumed in our little lives that when moments like this do come along, these big picture moments, it snaps you out of your little world for a second and makes you really look at life for the fleeting thing that it is and appreciate it all the more.

I wish Chris was here.  

I knew he would love it just as much as I did and I wondered what big picture thoughts he would have upon seeing the view.  So I called him for a quick FaceTime, but the view on a small screen with a lens that pales in comparison to the human eye meant that it just didn’t have the same effect.  

I wonder what Junior is doing.

Funny.  I’ve been dreaming of getting away from the kid for weeks now and having some time to myself.  I’ve cried as Chris held me and told him how I just need a break.  I’ve spent weeks thinking about all the wonderful things I would do with just one day to myself to do whatever I want on my own time without anyone else to worry about or work around.

But all I can do is wish that the two people I love most were with me.  I guess that’s my big picture moment.  I came for escapism, a chance at recapturing a simpler time when it was just my dog and me against the world – but wound up finding that I no longer wanted that.  I remembered how many times on those hikes in the old days that I wished I had someone to share it with, and I guess that hasn’t changed much.  Except now I had a husband and a son whose company enhanced every great moment – even if they annoyed the heck outta me sometimes too.  So I took a second to be thankful that I now had two wonderful people in my life that I wanted to share everything with.  And though I knew the hike would be better if shared with them, I was still grateful for the space to gain that perspective.

I sat for a while on that rock with Dev just thinking about life and all the incredible and beautiful things in it, including that spectacular view.  I was grateful to be able to do that, and grateful for the company of my old four-legged friend.  But as I set off back down the mountainside the only thought left in my head was how I can’t wait to come back with my family. 

#13: Snow Day

Last night as we were getting into bed I did the mandatory weather app check.  

“There’s a 30% chance of snow at 7am.”  I said excitedly.

“Ah, that won’t amount to anything.” Chris said dismissively.

Though I knew he was probably right, the optimist in me wanted to believe it so I gave Chris strict instructions in the event of snow.

“If you wake up in the morning for work and you look outside and there’s snow I want you to come in here, jump on the bed and shout “SNOW DAY, SNOW DAY” over and over.” He rolled his eyes and gave me a sarcastic “ok” before giving me a kiss goodnight.

I awoke in the morning to the sound of Chris’ alarm, which seems to more be my alarm to wake Chris up.  I gave him a loving kick and mumbled something about getting up.  I heard him shuffling around and drifted back to sleep as he drearily went about his morning routine.  

“Babe.”  

I was drifting in and out of my dreams.  I could hear Chris’ voice pulling me out of my dream and into reality.  I snuggled into my pillow tighter, trying to fight my way back into my dream.

“Babe, it’s snowing.”

“You’re a liar.  Go away.”  Yes, I am very pleasant in the morning.

“Ok, but it’s snowing and everything is white.”  The realist in me knew he was probably just messing with me but the optimist in me, who is apparently a 5 year old child on Christmas morning, sent a surge of excitement through me and willed my heavy head to lift from the pillow and peek outside.

SNOW!!

It wasn’t a dream, my husband was not the liar I had accused him of being, it really was snowing!  I jumped up and made my way around the camper opening blinds and taking in the beautiful wintery scenes from every window.  It was only a light dusting but it was the first snow of the season, and of Junior’s life.  I considered the fun of bundling the boy up and seeing his face as we stepped out into the strange new powdery world.  I was giddy as I began making coffee and cereal.  

Junior was still sleeping soundly and, against my better judgement I began being louder and louder as I went about my work to try and get him to stir.  But alas, he sleeps like his mother – dead to the world – and didn’t care that I had now opened the curtain on his bunk, turned the radio on, and turned the lights on.  I climbed in his bunk and gently called his name.  He smiled but never opened his eyes.  Finally I began gently tickling him and he began laughing before he finally opened his eyes.  

As I brought him to the window, he stood staring with a perplexed look on his face.  He smiled and pointed then looked at me, wonder in his eyes.  It was now time to power through breakfast, get dressed, and get out into the snow.  

As Chris left that morning I asked him if it was wise to try and get to work in this weather.  The roads have not been salted yet and the forecast suggested that the temperature wouldn’t get above freezing all day.  This coupled with the fact that, to get to work, Chris had to go up the mountain before going back down the other side concerned me.  Those icy winding roads flashed through my head and I asked him once more to stay home.  But he shrugged it off, kissed me goodbye, and headed to work.  

As I fed Junior his cereal he kept his eyes on the window and the flurries that whirled in the wind outside.  It brought back a fond memory I have from my childhood.  I remember waking early one winter morning at our home on Vancouver Island in Canada to my Mom gently waking me.  As I rubbed my eyes, confused as to what was happening, she whispered that it was snowing and I ran to the window to see.  I remember how magical our front yard looked with a white blanket of snow and the snowflakes silently drifting through the calm air.  Though Junior won’t remember his first snow, it still makes me smile that maybe he has the same sense of wonder as he looks at the snow outside.

Just then, the door opened and Chris stepped in.  Apparently after a few minutes of trying to get to work he had decided that it was in fact not sensible to attempt to go up the mountain in this weather.  It was official – this was our first official snow day and we were snowed in.

After breakfast we all bundled up tightly, pulled on our boots, and headed out to explore the wintery scenes.  Junior giggled with delight as Devon sprinted around happily through the snow and the leaves.  Junior shrieked with delight and trudged through the snow and leaves after Devon.  

Junior in his snow gear.

We wandered down to the visitor’s center to say good morning to the ranger and the ladies that work there and grab some hot chocolate and coffee to warm up.  Refueled, we set out to walk around the lake to get some pictures of the mountains.  Though it wasn’t a heavy snow by any means, it was still a pretty scene with a light dusting and a gentle mist drifting through the peaks.  

A very light dusting on the Wolf Creek bridge roof.
Snow dusted peaks over Lake Trahlyta.
Snow dusted Blood Mountain.

But about halfway round the cold wind really started whipping and Junior still hasn’t mastered the art of gloves. To him they are a cruel torture device that hinder his ability to grab, pick up, and explore with his favorite tools. His refusal to wear them, however, means that his hands quickly went numb and bright red, which led to tears and cries for warmth, so we rushed home to defrost with snuggles on the couch.

It’s now 11:30am and the snow is still coming down hard and fast.  It’s not quite cold enough for it to settle on the ground properly but it’s enough to get me excited about the season.  I’m a sucker for egg nog, Christmas music, Christmas lights, hot apple cider, mulled wine, and snowy scenes that make everything look like a Christmas card.

We hope that this is a taste of things to come and that soon enough Junior will be throwing snowballs and building a snowman.  We are both really looking forward to the lake icing over, the snow capped peaks, the snow angels, the snow men, and all those wonderful things that winter in the mountains brings.  We’re grateful for the lifestyle that we chose that allows us to spend a winter in the mountains and a summer by the lake.  Today though, I’m most grateful for a snow day.

#11: It’s a Hard Life

I’ve been working here at Vogel for 2 weeks now and have worked as a camp host for 2 months.  I had anxiety about any form of work after being a stay at home Mom for a year and a half now.  I had the return-to-work jitters that took a minute to wear off, but I really feel like I’m getting into the swing of it now.

I have almost completed two full rotations of work at Vogel.  I work 4 days on and then have 4 days off.  The work is definitely tougher than at Tugaloo but the 4 days off make it a lot easier.

Each day of work begins as any other: my wonderful husband wakes me with hot coffee and, if I’m lucky enough, a bowl of cereal which I end up sharing with Junior who lights up at the sight of the bowl, stomps over, frowns, points at the bowl, and opens his mouth.  He gets his eloquence from his father.

After getting dressed and wrestling the reluctant child into some clothing and then his stroller we walk the 1/3 mile to the visitor’s center to pick up our list for the day.  On brisk mornings I have a neat little sleeping bag for Junior complete with holes for the stroller straps.  It’s waterproof, lined with thick fleece, and zips up to his nose, so he stays toasty and looks like an adorable little eskimo.  This usually catches the attention of the campers who are bustling around the campsite, and most mornings we’ll stop for a chat with one happy camper or another.

At the visitor’s center we spend a few minutes catching up with the ladies there including one Ranger who Junior has taken a particular liking to and will channel his inner Chris Seeley charm to coax smiles and giggles from her.  Once the ladies are thoroughly smitten, we grab our list and head off to work.

The list consists of 2, 3 or sometimes 4 pages of incoming and outgoing campers for the day.  It details which sites need to be prepped for campers arriving before their 3pm check in (though most come early) and which sites need to be cleaned up after campers check out at 1pm.  Prepping the sites and cleaning the sites are largely the same thing and consist of leaf-blowing (an arduous and never-ending task at this time of year), picking up any litter, and cleaning out the fire pits of excess ash or trash.  Being that 9am is a little early for the irritating whine a leaf blower, we begin by cleaning the bathroom blocks.

Vogel is a large park with 4 “loops” and 4 bathroom blocks.  We are responsible for 2 of those loops; the first standard campsite loop and the walk-in site loop.  Standard campsites consist of pull-through and back-in campsites with electric and water hookups and a picnic table – there are 31 on our loop.  Walk-in sites can be accessed by foot only and are for tent campers looking for a more primitive setting, and there are 16 of these.  Loop 3 is another standard campsite loop with 29 sites across Wolf creek toward the back of the park, and loop 4 consists of 25-foot sites for smaller campers – of which there are 23.  Another set of hosts is responsible for loops 3 and 4.  Our neighbor and fellow host is responsible for our loops on my days off.

Cleaning the bathrooms takes about an hour for each block and is usually a pretty easy task.  I bring Junior in his stroller and he happily jabbers away telling me nonsensical stories while I set about my work.  Most days I get compliments from campers on the cleanliness of the bathrooms and my ability to balance a 1 year old and my volunteer duties.  I do believe that Junior’s presence invokes a certain sense of sympathy from the campers as they pass by and this makes them more likely to be respectful of the bathrooms and the park in general – after all, who wants to make more work for the struggling mother who volunteers to clean bathrooms at the state park?

Around 11am, bathrooms clean, we head back to the camper for Junior’s lunch and nap, though he sometimes falls asleep during the bathroom cleaning.  While he’s napping I grab the opportunity to do some dishes, have a tidy up, and, if I’m lucky, I’ll grab a quick shower.  When Junior wakes up, usually after an hour or 2, he has a quick second lunch and we head back to work.  

On weekdays the list can take as little as an hour to complete, but on weekends it can take much longer.  My first Sunday here had me going non-stop from morning until sunset trying to get through the list and blow leaves off the roads.  Of course, this was the peak leaf-changing season and so it seems to be gradually getting slower since then.

To complete my list with Junior in tow I usually opt for the backpack carrier, as he is usually tired of the stroller by now.  It can be pretty rough on a busy day with the weight of him on me as well as the leaf blower and we will usually cover a couple of miles like this.

It is also my responsibility to stock the firewood and ice at the visitor’s center throughout the day which can be laborious, especially on busy nights in the colder season.  I’m fortunate that the hosts on the other loop are kind enough to take over that responsibility for me most days.

After our work is done for the day we are free to spend the afternoon as we choose.  Most of the time I get Junior out for a run around to burn some of the energy he has pent up from being strapped to either a stroller or me all day.  This is usually when some friendly campers will stop me for a chat.

Most people tend to be quite curious about us.  Most campers come to state parks often, and Vogel is a park that many return to time and time again.  Some of the regulars have been coming here with their families for generations.  Being that we don’t fit the usual profile of campground hosts, this sparks curiosity and thus conversation.

Last week I finished blowing the leaves off the last site on my list when a camper began talking to me.  He was sitting in a camping chair on the neighboring site with his wife and they were enjoying the peace and quiet before I came along.  He was friendly and inquired about how I managed to balance my responsibilities, I told him that it wasn’t terribly difficult most of the time – but it definitely required some tact.  He asked about how we had come to be hosts and before I knew it I was sitting with them drinking hot tea and they were playing with Junior as I told them my life story.  

Larry and Pat were from Louisiana and had been married a long time.  Pat was a retired school teacher and Larry was retired from the insurance business.  It was Larry’s idea to get the camper and Pat, not much of an outdoor’s woman, seemed to try her best to enjoy the excursions they take in order to be a supportive wife.  They were a very sweet couple who I found very easy to talk to.  We shared many of the same world views and they admired the lifestyle that we have chosen for our son.

I spent about 2 hours chatting with them that day, and returned each day until they left to swap stories and enjoy each other’s company.  

On the day they left I wasn’t working so I took my time getting out of the camper. By the time I did, Pat and Larry were all but packed up and ready to hit the road. Pat’s face lit up when she saw us walking down the road and it was clear that she had begun to feel disappointed that we might not come and say goodbye – until we showed up. She gave me a big hug and expressed how nervous she was about the drive back down the mountain. I tried my best to reassure her by reminding her that millions of people go RVing ever year and many of them are a lot dumber than her – so if they can do it then so can she. She leaned in close and told me in a hushed tone that she had forgotten to get her jewelry out of the drawer but that it couldn’t be accessed while the slide was in so she was dreading telling Larry that he’d have to put the slide back out. I giggled and told her that she’d better do it sooner rather than later, as he was about to hitch the rig and lift the jacks.

She turned and called to him: “Larry!”

Pat’s voice seemed to cut through Larry and he slowly turned and poked his head from behind the camper.  He looked at Pat and shuffled over to me.  He leaned in and said “When she says “Larry!” like that, I shudder.”  Then he smirked and turned to Pat who gave him an endearing eye roll.  I chuckled.  I liked them a lot; they were polar opposites in some ways but they seemed to love each other dearly and make an effort for each other even after all these years.  She was still fearful of disappointing him and he was happy to do things at her pace. Pat told him she had left her earrings in the camper and that she needed him to put the slide back out and retrieve them for her. He sighed, smiled sweetly and said “of course, dear”.

It makes me think of Chris and me.  I think I hold him back from really running head first into adrenaline and risk sometimes because I’m such a nervous Nelly, but he seems to genuinely be ok with going a little slower sometimes or passing up the odd adventure when I’m feeling particularly anxious or uneasy.  In turn I try to push myself a little more and step outside my comfort zone so he doesn’t have to choose between me and whatever adventure he has his eye on.  I think it’s something that is important to any marriage; it’s the need to gauge each other’s comfort levels and never stay too firmly in them but never force the other too far out of theirs.  Pat and Larry seemed to have that down.

After I hugged them goodbye and Junior blew them kisses we continued on our walk through the park and around the lake – a walk that has become something of a favorite.  I took yet more pictures of the lake – something which I didn’t think I would spend so much time doing.  But every time I walk that same trail around that same lake I catch a different view.  When the sun catches the leaves in the morning the mountains turn a beautiful golden color that glows against the blue sky and illuminates the landscape with a peaceful aura. The afternoon sun seems to catch more of the reds and oranges giving the hillside a more lively energy.  But when a storm is moving in and the dark clouds begin to gather around the mountains and creep down the peaks casting shadow over the lake, the scene becomes an entirely more sinister and foreboding one.

Having snapped my pictures, I headed back to camp for snacks and playtime.  Along the way I bumped into Jason, a fella that I had been seeing around the campsite the last few days and exchanging pleasantries and idle chatter with.  He’s younger than the usual weekday camping crowd by about 25-30 years and was visiting from South Florida with his wife, April, and their 2 young daughters.  April’s mother and father, Sandra and Jerry, who live close by, were also camping at the park.  Jerry and I had also chatted a few times and I liked him a lot too.  In fact I adored the whole family.  These people were not the kind of people that you can take a disliking to – they are some of the most likable people I’ve ever met.  Each time we passed by them in the park they would take the time to ask how we were, see what we’ve been up to, and would also ask about things that we had talked about in previous conversations.  Jerry and Sandra even helped me numerous times to try and catch a hungry but friendly stray dog that had been running around the park for days (we still haven’t caught him).

Each one of them were so warm and friendly, easy to talk to, were fun to laugh with, and made us smile.  They were genuine and made us feel welcome at the park that they have been coming to for decades.  Jason and April came and sat with us by our campfire one night and we had a couple of drinks and chatted, swapped stories and laughed – it is exactly what camping is all about.

April and Jason had to leave for Florida the next day but we got a few more days with Jerry and Sandra before they, too, had to go.  But we thoroughly enjoyed meeting them.  Jerry and Sandra asked for our numbers to keep in touch and said they think of us as family now.  They even invited us to Thanksgiving with them!

A couple of days ago a retired couple named Stan and Ann arrived to stay for the week. It turns out that they have spent a good bit of time in British Columbia, the Canadian province that I’m from, and share my adoration for its unique beauty. I’m sure I’ll enjoy more daily conversations with them until their departure on Friday.

When I took on this adventure, much like I do with everything, I worried.  I worried that I’d be isolated and wouldn’t have many people to talk to, or that if I did they’d be unfriendly or rude and that I would end up dreading leaving the camper each day.  I imagined that maybe after a while we might be lucky enough to meet some folks whose company we enjoyed and had some good conversations with, but I never imagined that we would come to meet so many memorable and wonderful people. 

There are many things about what we are doing that have helped me to begin restoring my confidence – after all, it took a pretty brutal thrashing after all we’ve been through in the last couple of years.  Going back to work – though it is volunteer work – gave me a sense of purpose and pride outside of motherhood that I had forgotten I needed.  Making the leap to live this lifestyle reminded me that I am brave and that our marriage is solid.  Climbing a mountain with my son on my back reminded me that I am strong.  And making so many great new friends reminded me that I am worthy of love. 

These are the lessons that I believe are essential to not just learn, but constantly re-learn over and over as the seasons of life can take their toll and bury those lessons deep within us.  They are lessons that I have always hoped to teach my son over and over as he grows.  They are lessons that I now know he is learning everyday of this adventure as he watches me relearn them.