Monday, July 22--
4:05 p.m.-
A
grasshopper with fun on its mind "snicked" into the tent. I was
already cross from trying to crowd a too-full full-sized air mattress in too. A
tent rope yanked my hat off. Grasses tickled my legs like flies landing. So did
mosquitoes while I wrestled the six-inch thick bed through the tent's narrow
A-frame opening. The airbed was supposed to be twin sized, but I'd grabbed the
wrong one.
I've
been wanting to spend a night camped by the river. I quibbled with arguments
against it--cool and windy--then threw them away. Today is the day.
EZ
and I stopped in the summer office to check out a possible site on the west
side of the channel. A good spot, but I wanted to also look over a promising
site three meanders above Grand Sandbanks.
It's
a beautiful place. Two feet above the river's height, level, with waist-high
grasses, and shaded by graceful overarching maples and a sandy beach to pull
the boat up on. And lots of deadwood to cut up for the fire, pushed up to dry
by spring's high water and trees shedding branches onto the ground like manna
from heaven.
EZ
studied the shallows by splashing in, swimming out to sniff passing leaves,
then regaining her footing to examine other floating things. I put up the tent,
borrowed from the ex, the one we celebrated our three-month anniversary in,
twenty-five years ago. A few poles missing, some stakes too, but it stood all
right with a few sapling supports poked where aluminum should've been poked
instead. Twenty minutes passed and I realized I'd not seen EZ, so peeked over
the grasses. She was sitting, toes in the water, watching water bugs.
7:55 p.m.-
Back
at the campsite after a firewood run EZ jumped from the boat and resumed her
attention at river's edge now-and-then pouncing at an interesting bug.
Fire
going, widening itself a circle by burning circumferent grasses when the wind
whips through. A scene of great irresponsibility if a DNR referee should
observe it, call "foul," and unfurl his rule. But we've had five
inches of rain in four days and everything is saturated, including the wood
that doesn't want me to burn it.
The
wind has been blowing hard all afternoon and is not letting up, still fanning
through in gusts of twenty or more miles-per-hour, flailing the insecure tent
and clearing the campsite of mosquitoes.
I
did not catch the bass, as planned, for supper. Even bought a Rebel®
floating plastic grasshopper with dual treble hooks and appalling Day-glow
orange eyes. (Probably scared it.) Even brought along a skillet and pancake
flipper and a half-stick of butter to fry it in. I had a small one apprehended
before it said, "I don't think so," and gave me the slip.
8:24-
EZ has given up her amusement and come up for a look around the campsite, sniffing the tent suspiciously, discerning that prigs have held it in careless containment. I brought her bucket of food out of the boat and set it down, though I doubt she'll eat. She fasts for the first twenty-four hours when we're somewhere new.
The
wind has slowly subsided. A nearly full moon should show itself tonight if the
Weather Channel is right and the sky clears after dark.
8:28-
Oops.
EZ is gone, back down by the water. (I just heard a belch from that direction.)
I'm glad she found this pleasure, never guessing that out of the boat and on
land with a beach to maneuver and sit on was something she'd so enjoy. But come
to recall, every time we park at the sandbanks she is content to sit for long
periods and inspect what's going on a few feet away in the sandy shallows near
shore.
9:02-
We
get the wrong idea about vacations. We think they ought to be instantly and
continuously fun. So we travel to places that arouse adrenaline and release
endorphins by gobs. A true vacation is going somewhere out of the routine and
forcing ourselves, as I've had to today, to settle into it. And refuse to go
home or go somewhere else where we can have more fun.
Sink
into it.
An
authentic vacation will usually be boring at first, until body and mind quiet
down and acclimate the new pace.