Reminiscences of Summers Past

My ideal office is not an office. It’s the back deck with a table and comfortable chair where I can sit, drinking my coffee and writing. It’s not too damp, cold or warm. It’s just right. The birds are singing in the trees. Maybe I’m alone on a deck at the trailer, which adds the soft lap of the water against the docks, boats and the shore. The wind softly rustles the trees. Sunlight bounces and plays against the water. The occasional fish breaks the surface in search of a tasty bug. The heron stalks its prey across the tiny inlet. Steam rises from my coffee cup in the stillness. Then my stomach rumbles because someone is cooking bacon somewhere. That and popcorn will do it every time.

The lake is a small one. There are beavers that live in the area, the heron that I mentioned earlier. A few chipmunks scurry around going about their little chipmunk lives. There are fish in the lake that occasionally leap from the water. I’ve never been sure if they are after insects or escaping certain death when they do that. Then, there are the frogs. They provide a deep bass to the birds’ songs in the trees. Once in a while, a hummingbird stops by for a quick nip of nectar from the feeder. The sun climbs higher and other people emerge and people sounds start to invade the peaceful morning.

I like the early morning at the campground. That is, I like it when it is sunny, warm and peaceful. Sometimes it’s stormy, cold and decidedly not peaceful. I don’t like it so much then. I have to admit that I am a fair weather camper. I like the warm sunny days. There’s nothing wrong with a semi-warm rainy day except that in a travel trailer, there aren’t too many places to go for peace and tranquility. It depends on how many people are present. One or two is enough. Six is too many. Rainy days in a travel trailer with children are something to avoid.

The lake in a storm looks impressive with white capped waves slamming the shore. It’s not a large lake, covering a mere quarter acre, but it is a nice one for recreation. Fishing, swimming, sailing small boats and the like are always going on the lake, well during the day up to twilight. Some people go fishing in the dark, but there are no lights on the water. It becomes mysterious then.

At night, campfires are the norm. Sometimes you hear the other people singing or laughing. I always seem to sit where the smoke goes, although that is a protection from mosquitoes, it is not good for breathing. Overhead, the stars shine through the darkness of space at us. The moon, if it’s not new, casts pale shadows in the darkness. You see more stars there than you do even in the suburbs, if you are in the city at night, don’t even bother looking up. I don’t think I could live in the city.

This started as a description of my ideal summer writing space and turned into a nice description of the campground where my family gathers in the summer. That’s how writing goes sometimes. I started on the back deck and ended at the lake, in the past. It’s nice there. I write more poetry there. I guess I am inspired more by the wild places than by manmade things. To me, a wildwood is more beautiful than a golf course. Don’t get me wrong, I love my creature comforts and the internet, but I love the wild places too. We’re losing them at too fast a rate. We need to stop and smell the flowers.