The morning starts as it always does. I sit at the kitchen table sipping coffee before I brave the chill air and let the dogs outside. Harley is busy getting out every toy he owns and strewing them over the floor, going back and forth bestowing attention on each one, coming over to drop one in my lap on occasion in hopes that I’ll toss it for him. Laddie is still laying in his customary place by the door, looking up at me with love as I pass but not moving as he usually does to follow me around the camper as I wake up. His hips must hurt. In a moment of feeling like a pup again last night, he went to fetch a toy I tossed. The strength in his legs left him on the turnaround in a pile on the floor. With back legs trembling as he struggled to get upright, he gave up the game to go lay down again. It’s getting harder and harder for him to move as he wishes he could and as he remembers he could. There are days when he moves with fluid grace as if he were a puppy. There are days when his movements become that of an old man and I am reminded that our days together become shorter every day.

All of my animals have held a special place in my heart but none quite like Laddie, my 15 year old Sheltie with the liquid brown eyes. He and I met 13 years ago at a PetSmart during a rescue adoption event…and I fell in love. It wasn’t meant to be that he would come home with me that day however, because he had already been adopted. Two weeks later when I went back to the store, his picture remained on the poster of available dogs. So on a whim I called to find out if it was an outdated poster or if he was still available. I was told that he’d just been returned from his last adopted family and they were going to be quite particular about his next placement, putting him with someone who truly understood Shelties.

Oh… you mean the barking and the herding and the hair??? After all, I’d grown up with Shelties and knew full well what I was getting into. His first three owners didn’t like the barking (resulting in one of them having him surgically debarked as a puppy and leaving him with a squeaky little bark), nor did they like the amount of hair that he generated much less the paths he ran herding circles in in their yards. Classic cases of people getting dogs because they were cute and not understanding the breed.

2 hours later he was a permanent part of my life. And he has remained steadfastly by my side through all that life has thrown at me… the moves, the divorce, the work life that ate most of my time, the laughter and the tears… always stopping to rest his head on my leg and looking up at me with those warm coffee colored eyes.   Shortly after moving to Illinois, he was stolen from my yard only to find his way home 3 weeks later in some of the worst snow of the year. No matter what, we were meant to be together.

As precocious and funny as Harley is, it is Laddie that has truly become the love of the campground and the campers who come through here. Kids and adults alike come by to say hello to “the dog who can’t bark real loud”. He basks in the attention, starting up with his squeaky bark when the petting ends. He’s turned into quite the country dog, laying in the grass alongside the camper regally surveying the acreage and the wildlife around him… looking much like a regal prince. He delights in the treats that Joker gives him at night, often getting so excited that he’ll offer both paws one after the other when told to shake hands for his treat. So far he is managing the three steps into the camper well, though I know one day it will be a struggle.

His legs may falter at times but his love never has!

Just as my love for him never has either.

I think my most favorite time of the day is early morning… the time when I sit here at the table and gaze out the window as the day is dawning, thinking and writing and sipping coffee before I let the dogs outside.

And I marvel!

The view is dramatically different from what it was a few weeks ago.  The ground is carpeted with a thick layer of leaves in a multitude of colors that crunch loudly underfoot in the crisp fall air.  The quiet is peppered with the sounds of acorns falling on the asphalt as if it were hail, only to be replaced by the sounds of the squirrels scurrying onto my table outside hiding those precious nuts in my plant dish.  There are no deer right now (they’re here at night) but there are plenty of fuzzy squirrel butts scampering over the leaves and through the trees.  The leaves that still remain on the trees blow back and forth in the early morning breeze.  And I can see the lake from my window for the first time in months, sun glinting off the water with no campers blocking my view.  I can count the number of campers in the park right now on one hand. 

Peace… serenity… calm.

If anyone says God’s hand isn’t in all this glory, they are dead wrong!

The Labor Day weekend is usually the last hurrah of the camping season, full of families who are finishing out the summer with one last camping trip on a three day weekend. Now the campground is sparsely scattered with campers throughout the week… mostly couples who are either passing through or who simply want a few days of solitude and quiet around the campfire in the crisp cool fall air.

I was told that there would only be one other weekend that would be fairly busy… the weekend before Halloween when a lot of campers would come out as they traditionally have in groups to have an impromptu celebration. So since I knew it would be a somewhat festive weekend with more kids here than the usual fall weekend would usually see, I made plans for a few decorations around the campsite and an impromptu pumpkin painting contest for the kids who would be here. I spent the week ringing the site with ghosts on stakes and concocting a lighted spiderweb to string between the large trees in front of the camper. I readied the paints and the pumpkins I had available for the artistic endeavors of Saturday, thinking back over the years when Amy and I would sit and paint pumpkins together at our kitchen table and make final plans for her costume.

I was ready…. I was prepared…. NOT!!!

By Wednesday it was becoming apparent that this was not just going to be a busy weekend… this was going to be the busiest weekend we’ve had, topping every summer holiday weekend. The campers pulled in non-stop on Wednesday, continued pouring in on Thursday in the pouring rain, and by late afternoon on Friday we were full. No room… not one space left! I battled writers cramp while writing ticket after endless ticket. I told parents about the pumpkin painting contest, warning them that since there were only 20 pumpkins available they might want to bring their own if they didn’t want to take the chance of there not being one when they got here. I watched campers set up their Halloween decorations before they even set the camper. I gave out balloons to hang on posts so that the kids would know who was open to trick or treating on Saturday night. I ran out of balloons to give to campers to hang on their posts.

This was not going to be a busy weekend… this was turning out to be HUGE!

After 8 hours straight of writing out permits on Friday, I wandered around the end of the camper that provides an overall view of the campground and my jaw dropped. Campers had not just decorated their sites… they had created masterpieces of light and sound and sight that resembled a carnival midway in preparation for the trick or treating Saturday night. I was speechless as were many of the campers who happened in.

Saturday dawned sunny and cold. The morning was spent getting tables ready for painting and the small prizes put together for the “winners”, knowing full well that 20 pumpkins were going to go fast and hoping the paint and varnish would hold out. And coming to grips with the fact that we could only go as far as the supplies allowed. The whole point was for the kids to have fun.

And they did! All 36 of them that showed up from the ages of 3 to 12, some taking pumpkins that were provided but most bringing their own. The next hour and a half was spent watching bright shiny faces slathering paint on pumpkins in all manner of design… some discernable and some not. There were 10 year olds who agonized over the next color to place on their creation and 3 year olds who were happily slapping paint on in random order just like the bigger kids. And there were smiles and laughter… what it was all about.

The parents that came with them? WOW! They pitched right in helping me write names and site numbers on the bottoms of pumpkins, opening jars of paint. helping mop up spilled paint and smiling bigger than the kids were if that is possible. More than a few said “You ARE doing this again next year aren’t you?” Well of course! A bit more finetuned perhaps, but that is a definite!

It was for the kids… but it wound up touching the parents as well.

Joker, who had claimed he was staying away from it all as much as possible, was the big surprise of the day. Out of the corner of my eye I saw him watching while I was busy with the kids, coming over after the last one had left to say “Real good job mama… I’m making a quick run to Walmart.”

An hour later I had finished the last of his clown makeup, helped him put on the suit and rainbow wig and watched him ride off on his motor scooter, laughing and joking and putting smiles on the faces of children and adults alike. He had the time of his life! As I did watching him.

At 5 the awards were given and the extravaganza began! The sky over the campground was filled with light and the sounds of children. There were arches of orange lights, graveyards with spooky sounds and fog machines rolling, Halloween spookhouses, hanging ghosts and ghouls, bouncy bins in the shapes of ghosts and pumpkins, a 10 foot tall bowling pin walking the campground with a Spongebob Squarepants, a pirate urging the pickup truck he was riding in the back of to “Go faster matey”, not to mention a certain motorscooter riding clown who was in his glory at our site. There were spooky costumes and cute costumes and more Hannah Montanas than I could count. So many kids that I ran out of candy (4 big bags worth).

By 9 the campground was quieter than I’ve heard it all summer… kids tucked around the campfires digging through their candy bags, giving all the adults time to sit and breathe.

As we sat around the campfire with friends who had joined us for the weekend, the man who had “pooh-poohed” doing much for the weekend gave me a kiss… rubbing some of his leftover clown makeup on my nose and said… “Just wait till next year!”

I can’t wait!

There are so many things to do over the next few days to get ready for the onslaught of campers who will be joining us at the campground for the traditional “Halloween weekend” albeit a week early. There’s a lighted spiderweb to concoct, bats to string with fishing line, certificates to print, prizes to prepare, and pumpkins and supplies to be gathered for the big pumpkin painting contest. And I had errands to run in town before all that work began.

So I decided to start my day with a walk to the lake in the crisp cool fall air. The only sounds in the air were the leaves crunching and rustling under my feet as I walked, an owl in a faroff tree who was welcoming the morning as the skies lightened, the sound of squirrels chattering as they raced among the trees and the sound of the water coming in against the rocks on the banks of the lake. Every sound seemed amplified in the sharpness of the air. Glad I wore a jacket, I sat on the bank for awhile before turning around to head back to the camper and into town on the first leg of the day’s “to do” list.

The day continued with weather as beautiful as it began. The sun warmed the air enough to make me ditch the flannel shirt I wore over my tank top as I worked outside. Harley was actually behaving himself and not launching himself into a howling fit everytime I walked out of his sight. Several campers whom I hadn’t seen for several months stopped to say hello and chat for awhile.

Idyllic, right? Yes but for one small thing.

Or should I say small things numbering in the thousands!

Ladybugs! A literal infestation of ladybugs invaded the area, peppering the camper with their bodies, coming in the house before I could slam the door shut on them. In my hair, in my eyes, in my shirt, crawling in my coffee. And I would not be wrong if I said they numbered in the thousands.

Not the “normal” ladybug that we are all used to during lazy summer days. These are the kind that flee the soybean fields when harvest begins, having been introduced to the fields to help protect the crops only to find themselves needing a new place to land when the cutting begins… and FAST! So they flocked here today, working into every nook and cranny they could in an effort to come inside. Glancing at the door that has not been opened for the last two weeks, I saw nothing but ladybugs on the inside of the door prevented from coming in further only by the screen door. They came in on my clothes and they crawled through the crack in the door. They fell off the ceiling onto the table and they stunk when I crunched them. And if I should find one on my arm? They bit!

I began to feel a bit like I was living a remake of Alfred Hitchcock’s “The Birds” only with a different cast of characters. The little bugs that I always thought were so gently and cute seem to have turned into killers today!

Why do I get the feeling that before I step out of the door tomorrow that I’ll be peering anxiously outside to see what’s out there?

Joker and I took off yesterday to do a few chores.  Heat tape for the water lines, some insulation stripping for the doors and checking on some insulated coveralls for him for when he needs to be out this winter doing stuff outside.  So like all good country livin folk, we head for… Rural King!

Let me tell ya… I LOVE this place!  I could wander for hours through the aisles, crammed with things that meet both the domestic side of me as well as the mechanical/outdoor girl I’ve become over the years.  I can bounce between the housewares and the hunting gear and be totally content.

Off we go in separate ways… only to have Joker find me trying on bomber caps and thinking of Elmer Fudd but my goodness those things are warm and soft and furry and aren’t they so ugly they’re neato???  Once he quit laughing, he threw it in the cart for me, admitting that it WILL keep me warm this winter. 

A far cry from the dressier winter hats I used to have for my winter coat… but oh I love this hat!

One quick left turn and we find ourselves at the coveralls… a long huge wall filled with golden brown, stiff as a board, corduroy collared coveralls that can stand up in a corner by themselves without a body in them.

And once he has selected the appropriate size and length for him, he turns to me and says… “Now we need to find one for YOU.”  Protesting the fact that these things are NOT cut for women, I prove the fact by trying one on.  With the waist where it’s supposed to be and fitting quite well, the top of this thing is another matter.  I look like the StaPuff marshmallow man!  I could walk into the grocery store and stuff ten 20 pound turkeys into this thing and STILL have room.

“See?  It doesn’t fit right”  I said with a smug grin as I danced from one foot to the other trying to get them off and keep my balance.  “This is exactly why I bought women’s cut camo for hunting and they don’t make these for women.”

I’m here to tell you that it didn’t work… “Try the bibs then cuz you ARE going to get some and be warm this winter.”

So I did the hop and dance number again trying on the bibs with a small pout…. which fit.  Which went in the cart… I had no choice… at least they fit!

My hat will not match my coveralls but at least I’ll be warm.

Driving back through the country, I thought about how life has changed… my winterwear is now ‘chic mismatched durable” rather than “chic”  I wouldn’t trade it for the world!

And then I thought about how life’s gone full circle.  I remember the same hop and dance number performed with my mom’s help as she bundled my brother and I into snowsuits and boots and hats and mittens for what invariably would be a two minute romp in the snow before we’d have to come in to go to the bathroom… only to repeat the hop and dance process again.

Why do I get the feeling that that’s gonna happen again?  Only this time without Mom’s help.

I wish I knew where the summer went. It seems like only yesterday when the other campground hosts started trickling in to help for the summer… now they’re making plans to leave over the next few weeks until  spring, leaving Joker and I to deal with the campers who decide to join us in the fall and winter months ahead.

In many ways the “lazy days of summer” were nothing of the sort for us. They were days filled with worry and the business of simply holding on with fingertips and lots of prayer. Days of agonizing over what goes and what stays while I worked on getting the house sold and of moving it all to it’s respective places. Yet interspersed through it all were the wonders of the summer season… the hummingbirds who came to make their home at our site… new friends made and older friendships deepened… watching the cornfields grow from stubby stalks to tall graceful forests of green… walking through fields of wildflowers bursting into bloom sporadically just when I thought they’d bloomed out…spying the young deer who’d been born and marvelling at how big they’d grown in just a few months. Bits of “lazy” entwined with the constant commotion that marked the summer and our lives.

A few weeks ago, fall began to make it’s coming presence known. Labor Day weekend saw the last of the camping “hordes”. The weekends since are still busy but the campers coming in are the ones who are serious about their camping, preferring to spend their time quietly enjoying the wonders of the coming fall and not trying to pack it all into a crazy summer weekend. Joker and I spent a weekend skirting the camper with insulation board to help keep us a bit warmer this winter, occassionally interrupted by those who came by to watch and say “You really ARE serious about staying here aren’t you?” I’ve watched the hummingbirds who made their home here leave for the winter only to be surprised after a few days with none at the one feeder that still remains with the presence of another group on the way down the migration trail, staying for a day or so to refuel and then go on their way. The cornfields have gone from thick lush green forests to mottled green/brown to the crispy ready to harvest brown, the soybean fields following suit. Fall life in a small country town means pumpkins and fall festivals and quilt raffles and hunters in camo gathered in the early morning at Hardee’s. There’s a collective “slowing down”… a sense of life coming back to a more normal pace after the hubbub of summer in a lake town.

I’m feeling it too! With everything going on, I missed out on a lot of summer.

I don’t plan on missing a minute of this glorious Fall!!!

I love mornings like this!

The air is cool and crisp… the coffee is hot… the dogs aren’t barking at every person or leaf that happens to wander in their vicinity… our little fireplace is cranking out some heat… cranberry candle burning on top… cabbage and potatoes in the crockpot for supper later…the warmth, the smells, the feel of comfortable.

No deep thoughts… no profound posts… just a feeling of contentment and a smile on my face.

Only thing left to do is switch out summer clothes for winter.

But for now? I think I’ll just sit and bask in the feeling of home!

Even if it IS a camper

Over the last few months there have been days when it has literally been a physical ache to sit down as I am this morning and just take the time to write, or to pick up my camera and just spend time observing the world around me through the lens in the hopes of catching some of it. The days of summer have been busy with campground duties, worries about the months of Joker being off work for his surgery, dealing with the sale of the house and the things we did not keep in storage and dealing with making a place here in the camper for the things that were brought here. Joker tells me at times that I’ve done enough for the day… stop and relax… take some time for myself… and when I do, I’m often so tired that all I can do is sit in some zombie-like state until I get up and start going again.

Sitting with Prue yesterday, she looked at me and asked “Why haven’t you written lately?”. I believe the answer I gave was something in the line of I’d been so busy and hadn’t had the time. The look I got from her, no words attached carried no argument, but lovingly told me I was full of baloney.

Joker often says the same thing.

Driving back through country roads I thought a lot about that one comment. For in all honesty, it isn’t that I haven’t had the the time… I just haven’t taken the time. I haven’t taken the time I should for me, to do the things that feed my soul and make a difference to me and inevitably to others.

I’ve let precious time and thoughts and pictures slip away… because I haven’t made real time for ME.

I’ve been so busy “doing” that I’ve missed capturing some of the moments that make my life what it is and my heart what it is.

So this morning I am sitting here with coffee beside me, gazing out the window at the changing landscape around me and writing…. simply soaking in my surroundings and relaxing in a way I haven’t allowed myself to for many months, feeling a sense of freedom and peace that has often eluded me in the past months of all the hustle and bustle.

I’d forgotten how it can be… and now that I’ve gotten a small taste of it, I’m not willing to do without it each and every day.

The stories may not be funny… then again, they may make you laugh till you spit coffee out your nose. They may simply be rambling… they may have a point to them. They are sure to be full of the small wonders I see living out here in the country now. But they will be full of the things that make me who I am.

So from today forward, I am turning over a new leaf just as the leaves on the trees around me are changing their colors and falling softly to the ground.

Why haven’t I written?

It doesn’t really seem to matter why now. What only matters is that I am and I will. If it takes time away from “doing” stuff…. so be it!

It’s all J’s fault!!! I am a confessed hummingbird addict! Sharing some incredible pictures and stories about the hummingbirds that invade her little kingdom every year, she fascinated me with the creatures but try as I might… I could NOT get them to invade my house.

When Joker and I moved to the campgroundm she once again said “Put a feeder up and they will come”. Yeah right J! But I did, putting two at opposing ends of our site in early April. Lo and behold, she was right! In two days I had the first of my hummingbirds which have grown in numbers over the summer to well over 30 at best count.

A third feeder was hung in a tree outside the back window only to be moved by Joker to another tree on the side of our site, claiming he was tired of divebombing birds everytime he went outside around the back. My hopes of being able to sit at the kitchen table and watch the lil guys from there without craning out the window at the other feeders were put on hold.

Did that deter me? NO!

I found one to hang on the window… and several to hang in my potted plants. Kitchen viewing problem solved!

And rather than grumping about it, Joker has started to enjoy their hovering dancing presence in our lives.

I’ve delighted in their presence this summer. I’ve been divebombed by the lil guys sitting at the picnic table. I’ve stood quietly under the trees with a feeder in my hand, marveling at the fact that they feel comfortable enough to snatch a sip of nectar before I even get it hung up. I’ve watched the juvies grow, observing the way the adults teach them the ways of their world. I’ve stood by the feeders, small birds hovering close and chittering at me as I talk to them as if we were having the grandest of conversations. I’ve watched the adult males teach the young ones about the apparent dominance required when dealing with the females… and I’ve watched the females respect that natural dominance, waiting to take THEIR sips of nectar when the fellas are done. I’ve watched the throats of the juvenile males slowly splotch from pure white to splotches of red.

And I’ve watched them dance! Oh how they dance! They flit and zip and hover from side to side, never staying still other than to land on the feeder.

The other night I saw a different dance of theirs that I’d never seen before…one causing me to fly to the sofa and sit staring out the window. It’s common to see swarms of gnats in the grass in the early evenings… literal clouds of small gnats that magically disappear in an hour’s time. Such was the case that night as we sat inside eating supper. Out of the corner of my eye, there was something that struck me as different. As I looked out the window there were at least 20 hummingbirds who had joined in the swarming and the circling… gnats flying one way and the hummingbirds flitting in the opposite direction. A mini whirlwind of minute and small bodies in a dance that lasted about 10 minutes. The constant motion and grace, the flitting and swooping and diving were an incredible sight as they fed on those gnats. As quickly as it had begun, it as quickly came to an end. The feeders had been ignored until the dance was over. Then all the lil hummers started paying attention to the feeders as if to say “OK fun’s over now. We’ve got our protein… now it’s time to drink”.

Oh what a dance! What an amazing dance!  I felt as if I should stand in ovation at that spectacular performance, clapping wildly and hollering MORE!!!

Sitting at the window watching one of the females sip her nectar, pausing to look in at me and cock her head as I watched…. I coulda sworn she’d winked at me as if to say “Oh yeah there’ll be more”.

Yup I’m hooked!

This is a post that is not easy for me to write but I must. In writing it, I must own up to my failings and my inadequacies and admit that I still have a lot to learn from life. For years I have said that when I am gone from this earth, I want to leave a legacy of the heart for those I’ve met along the way. When it comes to my family and friends it seems to be no problem. But I have to admit that I have not loved everyone who enters my life in the way that He wants us to love others. I need to be leaving a legacy… not just for my family and loved ones, but for everyone who comes into my life for however short a time.

 I am ashamed… I’ve fallen short…but I am forgiven!

God gave us a not so gentle reminder the other day of how short our time here on earth is. Each precious moment we spend with the people who enter our lives cannot be wasted. No opportunity to make a difference in people’s lives no matter how small or large can be missed. For there will come a time when the Good Lord takes us all home. He doesn’t give us warning or extra time to catch up on what we might be doing or want to do. He gave us our “second chance” with our acceptance of Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior, expecting us in that acceptance to not want or need a second chance to “finish up things” here on earth. He desires for us to live our lives so that we leave with no regrets and no unfinished business.

5 other campground hosts have joined Joker and I here for the summer. Despite the difference in ages (Joker and I being the youngest) and the different stages and walks of life, we’ve grown into close friendships with most. We’ve sat outside together talking until all hours, we’ve shared suppers, we’ve made late night ice cream runs together, we’ve swapped stories and shared laughs on a regular basis. We’ve worked together as a team and tried as best we can to look out for one another. And for the most part we’ve all gotten along just fine.

As is often the case with every group of people, there seems to always be one who is just not quite part of the picture. So it was with us.

B joined us at the campground later in the season. An elderly widower, he and his wife had hosted at the park years ago. This year he decided he would like to try it again by himself. Despite the number of times that we all walked him through how things were done, he remained stuck in the old way of doing things. He would leave the park without telling anyone when he was supposed to be on duty, he wouldn’t let us know what campers he’d written tickets for in our areas so that we could keep track, had no clue as to who was in his area since he didn’t keep track and tie up the walkie with nonsense for what seemed like hours. Often stepping into situations that he shouldn’t be in, we sometimes worried about his safety in doing so at his age. Not in the best of health, he would rarely ask for help doing anything if he needed it. His shoulders needed replacing and he had diabetes and heart problems. If truth be told, he probably wasn’t eating as he should have been. He would ask a question, get the answer and then ask the same question again not 15 minutes later. He was closed when he should’ve been open and open when he should’ve been closed. He was a chauvinist at best, always trying to convince me (not in jest) that I should be doing his laundry and cooking and housework as well as ours which did not set well with me. Patience with him was often non-existant. All of us gritted our teeth… a lot!… and worked around it the best we could. He was planning on leaving the park next week for the season and all of us looked forward to the thought of days ahead without all the nonsense.

We found him in his camper the other morning… the good Lord took him home. By the time we found him, he needed no other help.

I can only speak for Joker and I now when I say that his passing left us with a lot of “woulda shoulda coulda’s”. As frustrating as the man was, I coulda done a whole lot better. Though I was not about to take on his housekeeping chores, I should’ve taken the time to stop and see how he was doing on a daily basis. I should’ve made more time to listen to the “nonsense” instead of trying to break away as soon as I could. I should’ve been more patient and understanding with him, realizing that he was a man who was wandering through life somewhat lost without his wife by his side. I should’ve shared more smiles. I should’ve given more of myself than I was willing at the time so that he might not feel alone in life.

I should’ve been more patient and understanding and compassionate… I should’ve let him see more of God’s love through me.

There but for the grace of God go I. And there with the grace of God I will be someday.

I coulda done better. I didn’t.

Lesson learned.