The logic of camping

One of the things that one has to consider when living a nomadic lifestyle is finding a place to stay long-term. We have our summer months covered thanks to Kal Haven Outpost campground – as we can stay for the entire season. But I have to wonder, if they were open year-round what would our options be?

Here in California, due to the age of our trailer, we have found just one “long-term” campground where we can stay. And that long-term is 90 days.  Ok, I will confess, cost is another consideration. This season we paid $980 a month for our site. We’ve already been told the price will go up next season. I know as far as “rent” goes that’s pretty reasonable, but our first apartment was $165 a month (including heat, electric and cable). I guess I’m stuck in 1975

Lake Jennings

Long story short, in three days we will be moving to another campground (Sweetwater Summit) with a  14 day limit.  Our plan was to stay at Sweetwater for 14 days, and then finish out our stay at this campground (Lake Jennings). And here is where the convoluted conundrum comes into play. We can stay at Lake Jennings once in a 14 day period. The two weeks at Sweetwater ends three days before our 14-day ban expires.  If we were not doing babysitting duty, we’d just move to another location. That’s not possible. I found another campground where we could stay for four nights and then return to Lake Jennings. I told King our options -- traveling to Joshua Tree for a weekend was one;  staying at several of our other favorite remote locations was another; and making a reservation at this new campground was the third option. I stressed to him campgrounds fill quickly in the spring months so he needed to decide rather quickly. King spent a few days deciding and then said to make a reservation at the other campground for four nights. By that time there was one camp site left. A slow internet connection had me missing the reservation by six minutes.

I tried to explain all this to King, but I think a white board, calendar and flow chart would have been a better option than resorting to glaring at him over the campfire.  To be fair, if it weren’t for making reservations and being denied I would not be able to follow campground logic either.

I have probably mentioned before that many campgrounds limit the age of trailers to 10 years or newer. Ours will turn 40 next year. I’ve looked at newer trailers but the payments on this one ($0) remains rather enticing.  

At any rate we will be doing some remote camping for four days. I rather like the solitude.

So… on the everyday, mundane home front, we are entering into baseball season in California. The boys had a scrimmage Saturday. The season starts early, takes a break for summer, and resumes in the fall. Yesterday the boys’ team, the Giants, played Detroit.  It was nice to see the familiar “D” on the other team’s uniform. It was a long, drawn-out affair in what locals considered “chilly” weather. (About 65 degrees I guess). I couldn’t tell you who won. 

When we return to Michigan we will have missed all the school concerts and school plays. Hopefully we will be able to catch some soccer games. I’m fairly certain I will need to dig out our winter coats, wool hats, mittens and hand warmers to watch the games. Spring soccer in Michigan is a little more than “chilly.”

We also have a new great-granddaughter to spoil after we cross the “Pure Michigan” sign on I-94.

Our lives, despite not being what is considered conventional, are fairly normal. It’s a sharp contrast to the mothers, fathers, grandmas, grandpas and grandchildren in Ukraine.  Thinking of them and hoping the petulant child running Russia gets a sound spanking before he can inflict any more pain and suffering.

Gorilla on the Mountain

 
In my previous life (before retirement) I used to talk to a lot of people. I could strike up a conversation with a total stranger and was always up for learning a little something.

The gorilla is to the right 
of the house.

When we retired and took to the road, I was certain I would continue to do that, but I’ve found that isn’t the case and I rather like keeping to myself. That’s why yesterday, while watching our grandsons  enjoying the campground playground, I surprised myself by having a conversation with a mother and grandmother who were visiting for the day. One woman was from San Diego and the other from Lakeside – in other words they were locals.

The younger of the women told me about the Gorilla on the Mountain, clearly visible from the playground. I looked, it took me a few minutes but after concentrating there was no mistaking he was there. I can’t NOT see him any longer – and a quick Google search, by the way, confirmed he is a local legend.

Sometimes it pays to converse. We miss a lot when we keep to ourselves.

Yesterday King and I also took the boys out on Lake Jennings in a row boat.  Lake Jennings is a water supply reservoir in San Diego County.  It was created in 1964 to provide water to the local residents in Lakeside, California and is owned and operated by the Helix Water District. There is an onsite water treatment facility on the lake. It is a great fishing spot. The lake is routinely stocked with rainbow trout and lake bass.

We had the option of renting a boat with a motor but King and I thought being able to row along shore and look for eagles, ducks and fish swimming in the shallows would be fun. It wasn’t. Oh, don’t get me

The boys rowed for awhile.

wrong, we had a good time and the lake was great. Our rowing strength and stamina was a little lacking. 

Years ago my younger sister and I would swim across Lake Mill in Gobles, Michigan. One of us would row while the other swam and once we reached shore, we would switch. Back then I was clearly in much better shape than yesterday.

King started with the rowing duties; I took over. He spelled me. We let the boys try. We drifted a lot.  I guided us into the dock. We rented the boat for a half a day. We were on the water about an hour.

Today we brought the boys home, didn’t stay for lunch, came back to the trailer and King is napping. I will be sleeping as well within the hour.

While I was lying in bed last night, trying to find a comfortable position so as not to put too much pressure on my aching arms, I decided I needed to start walking to build up some stamina. I plotted my route in my head, downloaded a walking app, downed four ibuprofen and fell asleep.

Today napping sounds like a better plan.

Just in case you need help... 

 

Art, music and cow udders

Mom always had a penchant
for history.

They say the sense of smell is a strong memory trigger, and they (whoever they are) are probably right. But, I’d have to add that music is as well.

Tonight, in order to drown out a remake of The Creature from the Black Lagoon on TV, I slapped on some headphones and turned on some music. I came across something I had not listened to for years. My music interests are extremely varied and tonight’s selection was by Rick Kuethe from his album Nebraska Suite. It’s not really main stream music.

The music took me back a few years.

I first heard it during the summer of 1988 while on a newspaper assignment in Saugatuck. I was covering an unveiling of an art project at OX Bow School of Arts & Artists.

The school, which is affiliated with the School of the Arts Institute of Chicago, is located on 110 acres on the west side of the Kalamazoo River in Saugatuck. For many years the school was rather closed-off and aloof. I’m sure many there today would take umbrage with that statement, but growing up in the area that’s how I remember it.

It was that time, as a reporter at a local paper, I received a lot of invitations to come visit the school. I believe it was the school’s effort to become more entrenched in the Saugatuck community. Again, that was 35 years ago, I could be remembering it wrong. (But I don’t think so).

I have not been back to Ox Bow since, so I’m sure the school has grown since then, but at the time the main building was the former Riverside Hotel, which dated back to the late 1800s.

The hotel owners, the Striver family, had a home on the property which was built in the mid-1800s and was located on an ox bow bend in the Kalamazoo river. After realizing the potential for trade and tourist traffic, they added onto their home in the 1890s, converting it into a 20-room hotel. In 1907 the Kalamazoo River channel was straighten to flow directly into Lake Michigan, cutting off the Riverside Hotel from river access. The family leased the hotel to a group of artists for the summer season.

Mom was a huge history buff. She and I shared a penchant for history, old buildings and stories of the past. I had been out to the school for a couple of other assignments and told Mom about it. She was intrigued. So when I was invited back to cover the unveiling of the art project I asked Mom if she wanted to join me. She readily accepted.

When the Kalamazoo River was straightened, it left a small ox-box shaped lake behind. It was on this lake that the floating art project was to be unveiled.

I’m guessing a little background on the project is in order. A Western Michigan University professor had been awarded a grant for the project. If I were really interested I could do some digging to find the name of the grant and other pertinent information, but that’s not important for this tale.

When Mom and I arrived at the school, the professor and his student interns were sitting on the shore contemplating how to go about erecting this floating art project.  “Put Kuethe on,” he instructed one of his students. I was sitting in the sand next to the boom box and saw the cassette tape case. The name stuck with me.

The school’s community relations director gave Mom a tour of the old hotel building and then Mom joined me on the beach. Someone offered her a lawn chair and she sat rather stiffly. Someone offered her a glass of wine and she relaxed – a little.

Everyone sat on the shore, slapping mosquitoes, listening to music, drinking wine and contemplating life.

Finally someone suggested they get started before it got too dark to work. Personally I thought it was a good idea since I had to get photos of this floating thing before deadline. I was working, after all. An air compressor was pulled out, large plastic/Mylar/latex orbs were mounted on platforms, helium was pumped into them, lights were floated on more platforms and the entire regalia had to be floated out onto the water. It was then discovered that the bottom of the lake was rather mucky. None of the young co-eds wanted to wade out into the water to anchor the art.

Well crap. I was on deadline. It was getting dark. I handed the camera to Mom and started taking off my shoes.

“You aren’t going out there are you?”

“Mom. I can’t go out on assignment and come back with nothing.”

I tied my skirt up above my knees, grabbed a line and waded in with a few other students. Mom snapped pictures of the process.

Mom had another glass of wine and we left.

As we were driving down the now dark road back to Saugatuck Mom said to me, “You know that looked like a giant floating cow udder, don’t you?”

She was right. But the music and wine were good.  

Different generations

Life is returning to our normal. We left the Fortress of Solitude last weekend and joined the rest of the world.

The boys spent the night with us Saturday night as their mother had to meet some clients in our area on Sunday. They stayed with us overnight and she picked them up when she was finished.

It was good to have activity in the trailer again, but it’s also good now to have a little quiet before we start in again with our Poppa and Grandma Afterschool Daycare for the week.

I had a little grin, probably at their expense, but it was cute nonetheless. One of the boys came out of the bathroom with a bar of soap in his hand, “Grandma. You are out of soap.” Apparently he was trying to lather up without wetting the soap or his hands.  He’s not the first grandchild I’ve had to show how to use a bar of soap. Almost everyone uses liquid soap now I guess. I swing both ways – using both bar soap and liquid soap. I don’t have a favorite. The soap in question happened to be handmade, a gift from the owners of the campground in South Haven.  They sell a lot of Michigan made products in their campground store, Kal Haven Outpost.

The soap episode made me think of the essay my Uncle John wrote about the house he and my mother and their siblings grew up in during the 1920s.  (I included his essay in my book, “Who is that Stranger in the Chair,” the story of my mother’s struggle with dementia). It’s an interesting snippet of life on the farm.  So often we romanticize life in the “olden days,” when everyday living really was a lot of work. We don’t realize how easy things are today. I gripe when I have to pull clothes from the dryer and fold them never thinking about how much work doing laundry was years ago.

Here is an excerpt from the essay, and the book…

‌ ‌Doing‌ ‌the‌ ‌family‌ ‌wash‌ ‌was‌ ‌another‌ ‌story.‌ ‌At‌ ‌the‌ ‌beginning‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌farm‌ ‌this‌ ‌was‌ ‌done‌ ‌every‌ ‌Monday‌ ‌morning,‌ ‌unless‌ ‌the‌ ‌weather‌ ‌was‌ ‌bad,‌ ‌in‌ ‌a‌ ‌large‌ ‌copper‌ ‌washboiler‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌kitchen‌ ‌stove‌ ‌with‌ ‌the‌ ‌air‌ ‌in‌ ‌the‌ ‌kitchen‌ ‌not‌ ‌only‌ ‌overhung‌ ‌with‌ ‌steam‌ ‌but‌ ‌also‌ ‌heavily‌ ‌drenched‌ ‌with‌ ‌the‌ ‌nostril‌ ‌cleansing‌ ‌pungency‌ ‌of‌ ‌American‌ ‌Family‌ ‌soap‌ ‌or‌ ‌Felsnaptha‌ ‌soap‌ ‌which‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌chipped‌ ‌by‌ ‌knife‌ ‌from‌ ‌a‌ ‌large‌ ‌bar,‌ ‌and‌ ‌the‌ ‌chipping‌ ‌had‌ ‌to‌ ‌be‌ ‌done‌ ‌finely‌ ‌so‌ ‌that‌ ‌the‌ ‌soap‌ ‌could‌ ‌easily‌ ‌melt.‌ ‌Then‌ ‌after‌ ‌the‌ ‌proper‌ ‌amount‌ ‌of‌ ‌boiling,‌ ‌the‌ ‌clothing‌ ‌would‌ ‌be‌ ‌transferred‌ ‌to‌ ‌a‌ ‌tub‌ ‌and‌ ‌each‌ ‌piece‌ ‌scrubbed‌ ‌by‌ ‌hand‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌washboard,‌ ‌then‌ ‌placed‌ ‌in‌ ‌another‌ ‌tub‌ ‌of‌ ‌clean‌ ‌water‌ ‌for‌ ‌rinsing‌ ‌and‌ ‌finally‌ ‌hung‌ ‌outdoors‌ ‌to‌ ‌dry.‌ ‌In‌ ‌the‌ ‌winter‌ ‌clothing‌ ‌that‌ ‌was‌ ‌hung‌ ‌outside‌ ‌would‌ ‌soon‌ ‌stiffen‌ ‌into‌ ‌solid‌ ‌forms. ‌ ‌When‌ ‌we‌ ‌became‌ ‌a‌ ‌bit‌ ‌more‌ ‌affluent,‌ ‌after‌ ‌weekly‌ ‌paychecks‌ ‌cane‌ ‌in‌ ‌from‌ ‌children‌ ‌working,‌ ‌we‌ ‌got‌ ‌a‌ ‌washing‌ ‌machine.‌ ‌Now‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌no‌ ‌longer‌ ‌just‌ ‌the‌ ‌mother‌ ‌who‌ ‌did‌ ‌the‌ ‌scrubbing‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌washboard,‌ ‌but‌ ‌the‌ ‌children‌ ‌who‌ ‌did‌ ‌a‌ ‌lot‌ ‌of‌ ‌this‌ ‌work‌ ‌by‌ ‌taking‌ ‌turns‌ ‌running‌ ‌the‌ ‌hand-operated‌ ‌washing‌ ‌machine,‌ ‌endlessly‌ ‌pushing‌ ‌a‌ ‌handle‌ ‌back‌ ‌and‌ ‌forth‌ ‌working‌ ‌a‌ ‌ratchet‌ ‌that‌ ‌swished‌ ‌the‌ ‌clothing‌ ‌back‌ ‌and‌ ‌forth‌ ‌inside‌ ‌the‌ ‌tub‌ ‌by‌ ‌means‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌sort‌ ‌of‌ ‌short-legged‌ ‌three‌ ‌pronged‌ ‌stool.‌ ‌It‌ ‌was‌ ‌maddeningly‌ ‌boring‌ ‌work.‌ ‌But‌ ‌it‌ ‌had‌ ‌been‌ ‌determined‌ ‌in‌ ‌advance‌ ‌what‌ ‌the‌ ‌minimum‌ ‌number‌ ‌of‌ ‌back‌ ‌and‌ ‌forth‌ ‌strokes‌ ‌were‌ ‌to‌ ‌complete‌ ‌this‌ ‌"wash-cycle"‌ ‌so‌ ‌there‌ ‌was‌ ‌at‌ ‌least‌ ‌a‌ ‌goal‌ ‌to‌ ‌work‌ ‌for,‌ ‌or‌ ‌rather‌ ‌"pump"‌ ‌for.‌ ‌What‌ ‌a‌ ‌revolution‌ ‌it‌ ‌was‌ ‌when‌ ‌electricity‌ ‌came‌ ‌to‌ ‌the‌ ‌farm!‌ ‌Even‌ ‌the‌ ‌family‌ ‌washing‌ ‌routine‌ ‌was‌ ‌affected.‌ ‌Now‌ ‌by‌ ‌means‌ ‌of‌ ‌a‌ ‌belt‌ ‌and‌ ‌a‌ ‌small‌ ‌electric‌ ‌motor,‌ ‌all‌ ‌that‌ ‌was‌ ‌needed‌ ‌was‌ ‌the‌ ‌press‌ ‌of‌ ‌the‌ ‌switch.‌ ‌Of‌ ‌course,‌ ‌the‌ ‌water‌ ‌still‌ ‌had‌ ‌to‌ ‌be‌ ‌heated,‌ ‌the‌ ‌soap‌ ‌shaved,‌ ‌the‌ ‌clothing‌ ‌rinsed‌ ‌and‌ ‌then‌ ‌taken‌ ‌outdoors‌ ‌on‌ ‌the‌ ‌line‌ ‌to‌ ‌dry,‌ ‌but‌ ‌the‌ ‌"work,” the‌ ‌real ‌work‌ ‌(so‌ ‌we‌ ‌kids‌ ‌thought)‌ ‌was‌ ‌now‌ ‌done‌ ‌without‌ ‌human‌ ‌muscle-power.‌ 

 

Mom was the youngest of nine children. I can’t imagine the work Grandma did everyday just to cook, clean, keep house, have babies and take care of the family. In later years she and Mom also tended a market garden and traveled to the farmers’ market on Fulton Street in Grand Rapids twice a week.

It makes one pause to consider how much things have changed in 100 years.

May your troubles be less and your blessings be more and may nothing but happiness come through your door. – An Irish blessing

My book is self-published and is available on Amazon. 

Contentment comes in many forms

Lake Jennings, California

It’s been another quiet week.

Our grandsons are with their father and King is laid up with a mild case of shingles. I had my two-dose singles vaccine before we left Michigan this past fall. While King is not opposed to vaccines, a two-dose regimen does cut in to golf time, so he opted to wait. Now he is told he will have to wait a year to get a shingles vaccine and in the meantime is suffering through the pain. Shingles do hurt. 

I checked with my doctor in Michigan, and I am pretty safe as long as I take precautions while applying calamine lotion to his back. The boys are safe as well because they have received chicken pox vaccines.

My doctor did tell me King does not need to quarantine from me – unless I feel it’s necessary for my own sanity. I really like her. I’m sure she is well aware of how grumpy stoic men can be.

In the meantime life goes on. Last week we had the opportunity to visit our favorite California mechanic when the brakes and a wheel bearing went out on the truck. King and I were quite surprised as it went with no warning. No squealing brakes, no rattling wheel bearing until suddenly it was bad. We both suspect it had been going on a long time and we simply did not HEAR it. In a word, aging sucks.

We have two favorite mechanics, one in Lakeside, California and the other in Bangor, Michigan. Both are straightforward and affordable. In fact, since the guy in Lakeside got us in immediately, and worked on the truck around his already busy schedule, King tried to pay him more. He refused.

Of course even with cheap repairs we are now left with the option of eating macaroni and cheese until our next check or yelling “CHARGE IT” when we go grocery shopping. It’s always been how we roll and I’m sure it’s one of the reasons the decision to live this rather bohemian lifestyle wasn’t difficult.

Not everyone is comfortable living this way. I guess I get their reticence. But not really, or not fully; it’s probably the same as those can’t understand how we are comfortable living with a meager savings and no real plans for when we are no longer able to do this. We will figure it out when it comes time to do it. Some might say it’s irresponsible. But, we are content with what we are doing.

Suffice it to say that contentment comes in many forms. This morning, for example, King and I worked together to unclog the black tank (never a pleasant task) and then King watched old TV westerns and napped (he really doesn’t feel that great). But now he’s outside puttering. Our campsite is in the high desert. It’s all dirt. King spends a good hour every day raking the site. Picture carpeting being vacuumed with all the nap going one way – that’s what our campsite looks like.

I’m not all that into TV Westerns so while Barbara Stanwyck was making a guest appearance on Rawhide, I hauled out our printer and my laptop and printed out a bunch of patterns for wood burning projects. I’m on a wood burning coaster kick. I think my kids will all be getting a set of coasters for Christmas next December -- if I can find the finished project in 11 months. It’s difficult to lose things in a 182 square foot living space, but I somehow manage.

My point is, it’s not exciting. It’s not adventuresome. It’s just doing the things we enjoy and being content with what we are doing. It’s an enjoyable way to live.

May your troubles be less and your blessings be more and may nothing but happiness come through your door. – An Irish blessing

Life without Facebook gives me more time with DK

This week I deactivated my Facebook account. No big deal, I’ve done it at least 50 times before; but I think this time it might be for keeps. I found myself spending much too much time on social media. I think my time could better spent doing something else. So far I’ve filled that free time by playing solitaire.

Small steps I guess.

A face full of scars

By avoiding social media, my goal is to finally finish my book about my mother’s struggle with dementia. In fact, the book is finished; but only a fool would be so smug as to not have it edited; or only a fool would assume to be able to edit it herself; or someone who self-edits has a fool for an editor… something like that anyway. (Yes, I know the correct reference about lawyers). Anyway, I’ll keep tweaking it until I find someone who will actually edit for a miniscule amount of money because that’s all I can afford.

I also have half a dozen craft/sewing projects that I’d like to finish. It’s interesting, I’ve been retired for at least three years, but it is only now, when I am working (part-time) again that suddenly these unfinished projects are calling to me.

So, long story short, as we head into August-like weather at the beginning of June I’m thinking about all the things I SHOULD be doing and it just so happens that NOT doing Facebook is one of them. (I’ve never understood Instagram or Twitter so I don’t have THAT social media addiction to overcome).

Without my face buried in my phone or on my computer our senior rescue dog DK is enjoying the added attention that Facebook stole from him.

At least I think he is enjoying it; it’s hard to tell with him.

It is only now -- after his being a part of the family for six months -- we are beginning to see some signs of contentment from him. And by that I mean he occasionally wags his tail. That’s it. A couple of feeble attempts at a tail wag, and King and I melt. “Oh look, he’s telling us he’s happy.” 

It’s fairly obvious DK has had a very, very hard life -- and that is the main reason we adopted him. His rescuer said he thought DK had sort of given up on life. I agree. I think he had.

He is pretty tired. His face is full of scars. We can only guess from what (and none of our guesses are pleasant). A big tell on his previous life is his attitude when he sees another dog. When we meet another dog on our walks DK turns his head and looks the other way, as if he wants to avoid eye contact. His attitude is one of “If I don’t see them they won’t see me.” (By the way, DK still walks sideways. His backend can never quite follow his front end in a straight line. It’s either hip dysplasia or worse).

But we love this little guy. We don’t know how long he will be with us before he makes the trip to Rainbow Bridge, but we think he deserves as much love as two human beings can give him. We are fairly certain he’d never been loved before he was rescued.

The gentleman who rescued DK from the streets of Tijuana concurred. In fact DK kind of wormed his way into the rescuer's heart as well. I’ve never met the gentleman, but apparently he is a business owner in Tijuana and rescues dogs when he can. He spends his own money on the dogs, getting them vaccinated, de-wormed, medicated when needed and, as in DK’s case, pays for any additional surgery. (DK had a huge hernia removed from his abdomen).

 We adopted DK through a rescue organization in San Diego, but the woman who housed him briefly asked if we would mind keeping his rescuer apprised of DK’s progress. We obliged, and I drop him an occasional line and let him know how DK is doing. He always is happy to hear from us. In his last email he said he had just rescued two dogs that did not make it. They were too far gone to be saved.

When we first went to meet DK, we were about the third or fourth potential adopters to visit him. It seems many people came to look at him to adopt him but when they saw how feeble he was they opted not to adopt. We decided even if he lived just 10 days (yes, that is how feeble he was) they would be 10 days filled with the love and attention he never got before he was rescued.

So we are rather thrilled that this little mutt dog is doing as well as he is.

Friday morning, before the heat of the day chased us into the trailer (with no air conditioning, but lots and lots of fans) DK took me for a long walk. And yes, he leads the way, I just follow and let him explore on his own. I know he doesn’t truly pay attention to where he is going because his eyes are always on the ground. So Friday we left the open field of the campground and wandered into the woods. Suddenly he stopped, looked around and realized he was in unfamiliar territory. You could see it on his face, “Oh crap. Now where am I?” Considering he is a street dog found in Tijuana, I don’t think the Michigan woods are comforting to him. In fact, I am quite certain if he were able to run he would have.

But he can’t so we didn’t, which is a good thing as I can’t run either.

It's pronounced Loo-a-vul

 You meet all kinds of people when you work retail, especially in a resort town. I try to talk to as many as I can. Partially because talking to people helps to stave off the boredom of the slow times (and pre-Memorial Day it is slow, and retailers can only hope that the summer season will be a good one. There is seldom a way of really knowing ahead of time). But the second reason I talk to people is because I’m truly curious as to where they are from and how they are enjoying their stay. It’s a safe question as even if it rained all week, people on vacation generally are having a good time.

I met some interesting people this week, including a couple of doppelgangers. When King first retired we moved back to South Haven to work as caretakers on a hobby farm. The farm owner had a business in Chicago and came to South Haven on weekends. We tended their grounds, critters and gardens in exchange for a small three bedroom house on the property. I think we were about the third or fourth caretakers for them and probably stayed on the longest. The owner was a large man with a balding head and a huge booming voice. His wife was a quiet Thai woman he met in Chicago while she was working on her graduate degree. We worked on the farm for five years and became good friends. They eventually sold everything and moved to Thailand to be closer to his wife’s aging parents. Yesterday a couple came into the store to buy a South Haven sweatshirt. He was a large balding man with a booming voice who owned a small business in Chicago. His wife was from Thailand. They were looking to buy property in South Haven. They say everyone has a doppelganger.

I also met a woman from Louisville, Kentucky. When she told me she was from Louisville she added, “If you don’t say it with three syllables you are not saying it correctly.”  (Loo-a-vul with a southern drawl). We discussed the (Kentucky) Derby and the scandal surrounding this year’s winner, Medina Spirit. (The horse lost his bid for the triple crown Saturday in the Preakness -- King follows racing closely). She gave me her recipe for the perfect Mint Julep. “The secret,” she said, “Is to steep your mint in simple syrup for at least 24 hours and to use the cheapest bourbon you can find. You want that mint flavor to be able to come through.” She gave me the exact proportions. King likes to drink Mint Juleps while  watching horse races, except he calls them “rum and coke and imagination.”

I think one of the most frequent questions I’m asked by customers is “What do you do here in the wintertime?” My stock answer (even though we no longer live in Michigan in winter) is “Well, there is always parking available downtown.”  Personally I think fall and winter are some of the most breathtakingly beautiful seasons in West Michigan – except for that brown slushy junk along the sides of the road.

So this week, I met an individual from upstate New York, who obviously knows a thing or two about winters. He did seem to be lacking in the common sense department however.

His companion was looking at some decorative throw pillows we have on display. One has a photo of a sandy beach and says, “Inhale….Exhale.” It’s written in cursive. She laughed and said, “The ‘inhale’ looks like ‘whale’ if you just glance at it.” I told her about people photoshopping whales into Lake Michigan photos and posting them on social media and how sometimes you could convince individuals  whales were migrating from Traverse City to Chicago. (No wonder people will believe conspiracy theories so readily).

The gentleman chimed in, “You’ve got some whale-sized fish in the lake though.”

“Well,” I said. “I’ve heard there are a few 240 pound sturgeon in the lake; but I don’t think there are a lot of those left any longer.” (One such rare fish was caught, tagged and released in the Detroit River on April 30, according to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. The FWS estimated it to be almost a century old).

He seemed disappointed but moved on. Beneath the pillow display we have Blueberry Festival t-shirts for sale. “You have a blueberry festival?”

“Yes. It’s been scaled down last year and probably this year as well. Because of COVID.”

“COVID attacked the blueberry crop?”

“No. It attacked people. They don’t want the crowds. Even with the mask mandate being lifted, it’s kind of late to try to plan something as big as a national festival. We’ll see what happens.”

“So what happens to all the blueberries if there is no festival?”

“They still get sold to stores nationwide. It’s a big crop. There are huge blueberry farms around here.” I could tell he was ready to take a road trip to visit the farms. I could imagine him pulling into a farm and asking for a tour. So I quickly said, “There is a blueberry store on the next block. They have all kinds of interesting things – all things blueberry.”

My farming friends can thank me later.