The Doldrums. - There is an area of the ocean called the Intertropical Convergence Zone. It sounds complicated and terribly exotic but isn't really. It is the region rou...
Monday, April 4, 2011
Milburn Landing fragments
Bunk beds, a double bed, heater, fan, table and chairs inside a one-room wooden cabin. It's more than ample for four of us. In our Joneses-keeping-paced-with world, I sometimes forget that that's all shelter really needs to afford.
I notice the mist on the river before the sun and the Deep Purple guitar riff cues in my head. The girls are up with the sunrise; a doughnut down and they are out on the playground.
Hot meal - eggs, pancakes, sausage, bacon - remarkable how much better food tastes and is appreciated while camping.
John boat ride to Shad's Landing and back finds a black duck with its purple wings overhead and a bald eagle who flies in slow motion.
Lunch is when you're hungry and riding bikes and playing on the river bank obliviate TV and video games for the kids.
Camping with families/friends creates a village, everyone watches and plays with the kids, cooks together, eats together, gathers in common areas.
The afternoon is a series of squalls and sunshine, rain and sun without a visible rainbow, but we don't need one to see the day's color.
Mandolin, guitar, harmonica and vocals draws a crowd and Lucky 7 Porter grooves smiles.
Later, cooking around the fire, lantern-lit playground games and bedtime based on tiredness.
Once the kids are down, campfire stories swirl with dreams, positions, fears and wishes, reminiscing and provoking until eyes and fire begin to fade
I walk outside at 2 a.m. and look up at an expanse of stars through the fingers of the trees, all reflected off the river.
Fragments, notebook jottings don't do the weekend justice. On the drive home and unpacking the car, everything smells of campfire smoke. A smell I hope remains in my nose, or at least memory, for some time... until next time.