knee deep in weeds

notes on living a life


"We need beauty because it makes us ache to be worthy of it." 
~ Mary Oliver 

My father brought the first one home when I was quite small, towing it behind the "rig" and parking it beside the house. It had a round roof and was painted silver, with red? stripes. Inside there was a sink and a bed and a place to sit and eat with a table. There were curtains on the windows and cupboards to store things, and boy were we excited. 

I was that kid that never made it to Disney Land. But I camped. That trailer was the first of several my parent's owned, each one getting a bit more comfortable, a bit more like home. Each one taking them to the beach, or mountain lakes and rivers, each one parked beside their home, and ready for a new journey. 

My father would sit and plan the trips at our kitchen table. Pouring over maps, looking for a lake or river he saw while flying: mapping out our trip.  I remember once traveling over a road, the kind of road that poofs with dust with each steep you take, heading into nowhere, my mother telling him so, in no uncertain terms, from the front seat,  I can see the sparkle in his eyes as he told her,  "Now, I am pretty sure this is the road, just relax." 

And yes, it was the road and the small mountain lake was worth the journey. However, once he had everything all set up and we opened the trailer we discovered every inch of it was covered in a fine power of dust from that road. Every canned good, every dish, everything. Mom spent the day taking everything out and cleaning it, probably having to haul water up from the lake. I don't think she talked to him the whole trip. 

So I feel at home in a camping trailer and ours is so nice. I spent last week with Gary over in Richland, in our new trailer, getting it ready for camping. The RV park he is in is full of Hanford workers, and nothing like the camp grounds I camped in as a child. There is a pool and hot tub, a tiny store, showers and laundry facilities and sketchy internet. There are people there who have lived there for years, and some who just pull in for a few months work. 

I spent the week unplugged. I slept in and read. I walked the dog along the Columbia and around our old neighborhood. One day I hit all my favorite stores and then had dinner with a friend. I sat at the table and planned camping trips for us this spring and summer and shared my lunch with Basil. And each night, after work, he came home to the trailer and we were together. 

and it was good. . .  

I came to understand how blessed I am; how this is our time now and there is not a right or wrong way to do it, only our way. And our way is pretty darn good. 

have a wonderful weekend, 
thanks so much for stopping by!