Fall Has Arrived

You always know you're boring when all you can think to write about is the weather, that's the first sign of mediocrity, and I'm falling into this category, unfortunately! Last week, as many of us know, was the first day of Autumn, but here in sunny Michigan we had a week of above-average temperatures - it was up in the 80s almost every day. This week is another story. Our temps have fallen and the nights are down in the 50s. Some of the trees are changing color and the leaves are lining the sidewalks and streets, but what was the first indicator, for me, that Fall had arrived?

The dog is sleeping on the couch again.

Most of the time Raaf the dog sleeps on the floor and he normally behaves himself at night. Some mornings I get up to find that he's had an "accident" next to the back door - I have to wonder why, as I always put him out before I go to bed. I think if they made a pill for overactive bladder syndrome for dogs that I should get him some because he can never seem to hold it for very long.

This morning, woken by a strange dream, I was up really early, like before five, and came downstairs. Usually, Raaf is there to greet me, wagging his tail, but this am there wasn't a panting dog-swishing tail to be heard. After some investigation, I found him, curled in a ball on the couch and looking as guilty as he could. I put him down and then directed him to his dog bed. You know, those padded, pillow-type things that they sell in the stores for dogs? Well we all know what those are for, but Raaf doesn't seem to remember. I told him, "Raaf, this is your bed, right here," and patted it. He climbed in obediently and is still there, snoring contentedly.

Now I know that the Fall/Winter battle has officially begun: When I have to fight with the dog over where he sleeps at night. Another indicator of Fall? I turned the furnace on yesterday, but dialed down to 60 degrees just in case it gets that cold in the house at night. The furnace didn't come on last night, but every thing's eventual!

Tenting Tonight on the Old Campground

It was Friday afternoon and I headed down the road loaded for bare. I was kind to the motor, not pushing it, giving myself plenty of time to accelerate and decelerate, taking the turns slow. My son was busily drawing and playing in his seat, my arm was being sunburned through the open window, and Raaf was whining and panting from under the last open space in the car, under the refuge of the back seat. The day was sunny and clear, the traffic not too bad. I listened to the radio, seeking new stations as I drove out of range. Catching info about the weather and the Fourth of July festivities in the neighboring towns. We had our water bottles, I had my cell phone. I dumped a full package of M-n-M's into the bottom of my purse by accident, but it didn't matter. What mattered was we were headed up to camp.

I made really good time - I didn't stop once because I didn't have to. We arrived in the town of Onaway at twenty minutes to six, pulling into the parking lot of Tom's IGA to grab some groceries. Tom's has anything and everything you might have forgot before you left home. We bought some hamburger buns and bread, some fresh fruit, a can of spaghetti rings, and, the most important, a twelve pack of beer. Then it was on the road again, all the while my son whining, "I want to go to Camp Ocqueoc!" He is too young to remember what it's like to camp there!

When we got out to camp, my mom, daughter, and sister were there and happy to see us. "Did you bring the meat?" were the first words out of my sister's mouth. Not really, but because she lives in Canada, she couldn't bring any meat across the border and everyone was hungry. As she fried up hamburgers in the camper and the kids run amok, I popped open a well-deserved beer and surveyed the scene.

The long field grasses were swaying in the breeze and nestled among them, here and there, were dots of color. A variety of wildflowers grow on the property - wild orchids and Indian paintbrush were the two I could name off-hand. Facing west, where the sun was making its downward descent, was Indian Creek. I could hear the sounds the children made from where they were playing on the old wooden footbridge and the babbling and gurgling of the water as it flowed over and around the rocks. From the trees, I heard all types of birds calling - meadowlarks and cedar waxwings - and saw them flitting from branch to branch to catch their evening supper of bugs. The sights and sounds of nature calmed and soothed me.

We ate hamburgers for supper and nothing more. Simple is best. My sister and niece helped me pitch the tents and unload the van. My other niece arrived with her children just as the early dusk was setting in and we helped her get her tent up too. We ran an extension cord to the outhouse and plugged in a light. We hauled water up from the creek for washing. We had everything ready just in time as darkness had settled on the camp. We were all too tired to have a campfire on the first night, so we retired to our tents and to our dreams, eagerly waiting to wake up the next morning for our first day at Camp Ocqueoc.

Getting Ready for Camp

All year I have been waiting to go camping on my property up north and, for the past two months, have been thinking about it and talking about it - I just couldn't wait to get there. As the weeks slipped away I made a mental list of everything I would need - tent, sleeping bags, food, drinking water, flashlights - I was making my list and checking it twice.

It just so happened this year my mom, my sister and her girls, and my niece and her children were able to come too and this was great, the more the merrier! Originally I had planned to leave for camp on a Saturday, but because of the turn of events with the arrival of more campers, I decided to leave on a Friday morning. My intentions were fine and dandy. My daughter was away at Vacation Bible School for the week, my hubby was away at a conference, and it was just me and my son. I would have plenty of time to pack and head out bright and early in the morning to begin my nine day camping adventure.

So what happened? I came down with an intestinal bug the day before.

All day Thursday I was weak and dizzy and running to the bathroom every half hour. I was vigilant though. Thankfully, my sister LDS was here to save me. She came over and sat with my son so I could go and buy new tires for the van and go to the store. When I came home, she helped me gather up camping gear and pack it in the car. I don't know what I would have done without her help! The remainder of Thursday night I packed and packed and packed, accumulating everything in the kitchen so I could be ready to go in the morning, and did all the last minute things one does prior to going on any vacation, including laundry, yard work, and re-siding the house (just in case).

Needless to say, Friday morning I was more pooped than perky. I tried to drink my customary cup-o-joe, but couldn't stomach it. I had to switch to a Coke. I shuffled around for a while, feebly hunting and gathering, talked on the phone with everyone and, as the morning hours burned away, finally arranged for my daughter to ride with Grandma. To say, "I was running late" was an understatement. It took me six hours to make breakfast, dress, and pack the car, sliding the last box inside at a quarter to two. Dare I say that the car was loaded to the hilt? I have a seven passenger mini-van and, when I had finished, there was just enough room for my son to sit in one seat and for me to sit at the driver's seat, oh, and a small space on the floor for Raaf the dog. My son had impatiently climbed into the car at twelve thirty (and who can say I could blame him) and was in his seat drawing a picture and hollering out every five minutes, "Mom! Can we go now?"

My reply? "Just a minute, honey, mommy still needs to pack a few more things." As I threw in the last of the gear I remembered one thing, horrified I exclaimed, "I forgot the kitchen sink!" And I would have brought that too, but because I couldn't find the wrench to unbolt it from the wall, I relented, surveyed the house one last time with a jaundiced eye, locked the door, and climbed into the car.

We were finally off to Camp Yuc-Yuc, and not one moment too soon.

Ah, The Sweet Smell of Summer!

I remember summer! Everything fresh and green. Sun-filled days, stretching into infinity. Lazy, lazy time-on-your-hands summer, when skool seemed miles away from reality and I wondered what to do with each "empty" day. Sleeping-in. Staying up late. Bike-riding, swimming. Cook-outs. Fourth of July Fireworks. Camping. Fireflies. Oh, the possibilities!

When I was a kid, summer seemed like all this, and more. It was a time to take a break from studying and getting up early, with nothing to do but simply exist. Summer vacation meant nearly three whole months of freedom! Why did it have to end!?

Ruminating on all this makes me ask myself, What does Summer mean to you now that you're All Grown Up? I guess, in a way, Summer still means the same things, but now I'm the parent and no longer the carefree child. And despite all the "freedom" that summer implies, I still have to follow routines of cooking, cleaning, supervising, and coordinating my children's days so that they can enjoy their time off just like I did when I was their age.

As I sit here and blog, full sun shining in at the window, hearing a robin singing his little heart out in the neighbor's backyard tree, I think about all the other things I should be doing today: paint the fence, weed, plant some chili peppers, make the beds, organize the silverware drawer, finish the laundry -- but I really don't want to. What I really want to do is find a good book and curl up and read, go to the beach for the whole day, jump into the van and take a road-trip, go swimming, or take a bike ride. Anything and everything that doesn't have to do with being inside or being responsible. Even though I'm a "grown-up" now, I'd still like to relive those hazy days of the summers of my youth, when I didn't have to do anything unless, of course, I was told to and had all the time in the world to do it. Who wouldn't?

Instead, as Raaf snores contentedly from underneath my chair while I try to decide in which direction the content of this post is destined and realize that I have to start conjuring up something to eat for that dreaded six-letter familiy ritual (aka, DINNER), I realize that, alas!, I'm no longer a child and, better than becoming nostalgic on the days of Summers Past, that I had best make the most of the days that I have left -- of Summer Now. Like it or not!