We had our last camping trip of 2014 last weekend. It was supposed to be a send off of summer, a sort of wake, Irish style. Whisky and all. The idea was, by the time we returned home, I would be able to move on.
Reality never matches fantasy, does it? Rather than a final farewell to summer, it became a tearful denial. The entire time I kept insisting we could do this again, that it wasn’t over. The sun was warm on our folding chairs, the leaves still smelled spring fresh. It felt too early to let it all go.
And then day became night. Smores demolished, campfire extinguished we scuttled into our sleeping bags and promptly froze to death. The only thing that prevented me from suggesting we drive home in the middle of the night was Shiva’s warmth curled at my side. But even she was shivering. When morning came, I knew we probably couldn’t do it again.
When you have to wear mittens to bed, it might be too cold to sleep outside.
Might be. Now that several days have gone by, my memory is a little fuzzy. Once more I am thinking one more weekend is possible. We’ll have a real send off this time. Sunday is the Solstice; what could be more perfect?
My PH and my citified canine are less convinced. They think I should get over the loss and learn to love brief autumnal trips to the park. I think they are wuss bags. What’s a little below zero chill when you can wake up to this?
Sigh. If I do have to put away the tent and the camp stove, at least I do so knowing we made a lot of memories this year. Summer was never enjoyed so much.
I can’t wait to do it all again.