Camp Crisp: By the Numbers
Posted: July 25, 2008 Filed under: A Zany Life | Tags: camping, family, vacation 2 Comments »1
# of fish caught with a pole, # of fish caught with bare hands, # of times Bacon washed dishes, # of new book ideas, # of lost cameras, # of lost gas caps
2
# of ancient Indian Kivas explored
3
# of museums visited, # of coffee pots used every morning, # of little girl cousins: Cherry, Coco, Rascal
4
# of day trips to Santa Fe, # of dogs: Lilly, Daisy, TiKi, Missy
5
# of white ice chests, # of blog entries written but not yet published
6
# of cakes baked and consumed, # of hikers to Cave Creek plus 1 schnauzer, # of members of the Brave Girls Club
7
# of Crisp horseback riders
8
# of books read completely
9
# of vehicles: 3 RVs, 2 cars, 2 pickup trucks, 2 motorcycles
10
# of coffee can stilts made and balanced upon
11
# of mule deer sited
12
# of days that it rained for at least part of the day
13
# of nights at Holy Ghost Campground
431
# of photos taken with the camera purchased after the first one was lost
Holy Ghost
Posted: July 12, 2008 Filed under: A Zany Life, Writers Write | Tags: camping, Thoreau 2 Comments »I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.
Henry David Thoreau
We’re headed out on our yearly visit to Holy Ghost Campground near Pecos, NM. Packed and stacked, our mini van and pop-up trailer are facing toward the road for a new adventure. This is an unplugged experience. HG is place without computers or cell phone reception, so don’t expect much in the way of blog posts. I’ll have a lot to write about when I’m back in a few weeks. Happy Trails!
The Clock
Posted: July 9, 2008 Filed under: Joined at the Heart, Mouths of Babes, Writers Write | Tags: family, loss, memory 2 Comments »We opened the pop-up camping trailer for the first time in a year. It’s pretty much the way we left it. After tossing a few moldy pillows, we discovered the rest wasn’t too worse for wear. Cherry checked out the cooking utensils. Inside the silverware drawer, she found the wind up travel alarm clock.
“Papa gave this to me.” She turned it over in her hands. “I remember that day. This came from his camper.”
The clock is square with a plastic cover that opens like a locket making its own stand. Cherry opened it, and turned it over to look at the face. Her eyes were glossy with memory. She adored her Papa, my father. A year ago he made this trip with us. He watched the girls play in the creek. He made them hot chocolate in the morning. He played Go Fish with Coco. He was alive. A few months later, he was gone.
This week we’re going without him, and I’m apprehensive. I can’t not go. He’d hate that. Yet going reminds me he isn’t. I saw all of my emotions flash across my eight year old’s face. It was more than I could bear without tears. Since I’m not a crier, I said, ”Put the clock back in the drawer. It’ll remind us of Papa while we’re camping.”
Cherry was obedient. She placed the clock in the drawer with the knives, forks, and spoons. I shoved the drawer shut and tried not to think about it. But it’s there, the loss as certain as the look on Cherry’s face, a tenderness too overwhelming to acknowledge.
When we get there, we’ll take the clock out and wind it, and we’ll remember.
