We settle into a routine

We are still here. I guess that means we are here (at this campground) for the duration.

It’s interesting to see the campers come and go. Big and fancy motor homes, equally big and fancy travel trailers line the campsites on the weekends. King and I watch them as they pull in, expand their “homes” with slide-outs and bring out the coolers, lawn chairs, outdoor grills and awnings. We are not quite that fancy but we are comfortable.  In the trees are the primitive sites and tent campers find respite from the heat in the shade.  Those of us in the sun either bake or turn on the air conditioning.

By Monday afternoons the campground is generally empty. But oh, the activity over the weekend. The owners have started hosting a farm market on the grounds from 3 to 7 p.m. on Saturday. The vendors sell baked goods, craft items, BBQ and more. It's rather nice to be able to walk over and browse.  I'd invite anyone in the South Haven area over the weekend to check it out. Wear your mask. Practice social distancing. 

Saturday  a couple pulled in next to us. They had just come from an RV sales place in Grand Rapids and are doing a trial by fire with their new trailer for the next two weeks. It’s a nice trailer and it was fun to watch as they set it up and discovered all the bells and whistles it has to offer. There are a lot of them.

Bells and whistles on our trailer? Ummm. No.  As I said we are not that fancy. The old Shasta we owned before this one had a roof air conditioner. This one does not.  Last week, with temperatures predicted to soar into the 90s, our youngest son decided he did not want to come for a visit and find baked Mom and Dad inside the trailer. So he bought a portable air conditioner. It’s the kind that sits on the floor with a large hose vent for the exhaust. After considerable debate King relented and let me block off the back screen door with foam core board (the kind that’s used for school projects) and vent it out the hole for the door handle.  We never use that door anyway. He thought we should set it up in the shower and vent it out the top trailer vent.  We tried it. The bathroom was freezing. The rest of the trailer – not so much.  We now have it set up in the back. 

Prior to installation the inside trailer temperature reached 100 degrees. It truly does help keep us from baking.

Days have kind of melded into one another. King gets up, putters around the outside of the trailer (Sometimes he starts a fire – sometimes it’s on the hottest of days), takes our dog, Cindy, for a walk and then we sit outside in companionable silence. For us 40-some years of togetherness basically means we’ve said all there is to say to one another.  Since I am the family communication person, he’ll ask, “Hear from anyone?” And I will give him the Cliff Notes version of a conversation with whatever child I’ve chatted with via messenger or text.  Later in the morning he’ll get up from his lawn chair and go into the trailer. I know it’s a sign he is getting ready to head to the store, but I’ll wait until he says, “Are you ready?” because if I get up and get my stuff together he’ll sit back down and wait until going to the store is, once again, his idea. Rather than have us ready to go to the store at the same time, he would rather wait in the truck drumming the steering wheel with his fingers while I get my purse, find the keys and lock the trailer. It’s his way. 

Our trips to town include a drive through the parking lot at the North Beach in South Haven. I call it “checking to see if there is still water in Lake Michigan.”  Then we head to the gas station where he buys scratch-off lottery tickets, lemonade, beef jerky for Cindy and an ice tea for me. It’s the same every day. Tuesday evenings are reserved for golf league. It’s the reason we stay in one place for the summer. Well, it’s the Tuesday evening golf league and twice a month golf scrambles that keep us here. And yes, he practices social distancing.

Sunday morning was one of those golf scramble days. So I sat alone and watched a few neighboring campers pack up and get ready to head home for the week. I would be lying if I said I envied them.  I’m quite content where I am.

Life may sound mundane,  but it’s peaceful.

It's all in the genes

Those who knew our Mother knew her as a classy, wise, Christian woman. What few people knew was Mom was incredibly deaf. A childhood fever left her with 20 percent hearing in one ear and completely deaf in the other.  Growing up Mom was somehow able to hide it from her family because she learned to read lips. It wasn’t until she had to take a physical to work at the Willow Run airport during World War II and the nurse said to her, “You are deaf, aren’t you?”  that Mom realized maybe it did not go completely unnoticed.

Mom’s lack of hearing did not entirely escape my older sisters and I either. As we were growing up we learned that if you didn’t turn your back to mumble a disparaging remark directed toward her she knew exactly what you were saying.  But few, if any, of her friends knew just how deaf Mom was.  (Her hearing aids she got when I was a young teen did help). 

It still came as a surprise to me when her friends from church were incredulous when I told them how deaf Mom was.

A couple of years ago while having coffee with the “church ladies” from the Reformed church our family attended when we lived in Hamilton, the subject of Mom’s deafness came up. “Your Mom was such a great woman. And when you talked to her she always paid such close attention to what you were saying,” one of the ladies said to me.  Yup.  Because Mom was reading your lips. Oh, she could probably hear what you were saying, the lip reading re-enforced she was getting it accurately.

Mom had a fun-loving streak in her too. And she wasn’t always reverent. I recall a Sunday evening church service in the middle of summer, probably in the late 1960s. It was hot. The hot, sticky, humid summer that is pretty normal for Michigan. That evening she decided it was too hot for nylons and opted for a summer dress and sandals.

This was the late 1960s. In Hamilton. In Church. Women did not yet own pant suits. Or jeans. I think of Mom’s four sisters she was the only one who had shed a dress for Bermuda shorts during the week. But there was Mom, bare-legged and comfortable in church on a Sunday evening. Sacrilege.

As was the custom, clusters of people gathered after the service outside the church before heading to their cars.  Mom caught three old biddies talking about her. (She read their lips). They were aghast that she had shunned nylon stockings for bare legs and (gasp) was wearing sandals.  Mom was quite steamed.

As we left the parking lot that evening Mom hung her leg out the car window and yelled, “I painted my toenails too.” It was the first time (and unfortunately not the last) that I realized not all “Christians” were non-judgmental of others. I applaud my mother for letting them know what jerks they were.

Genetically speaking we inherit genes from both our parents. The classy, wise genes passed me by. The “screw you” hang your leg out the window gene, however was doubled. From my father, I inherited the “see injustice and seethe in anger” gene. Couple that with the hang your leg out the window gene and you’ve got one pissed-off older woman who speaks her mind.

For years I was able to keep the combination under control.  And that is partially because as a journalist it seemed prudent to keep my opinions to myself lest I be accused of being biased.  A true journalist will still do that. But people can’t seem to understand the difference between news and editorial and everyone gets lumped into one big “fake news” pie.

But I’m retired now and I don’t have to be politically correct. So for all those who want to talk about my absence of nylons, my sandals and my political views – I paint my toenails too.  

Read between the lines.

A quiet existance

There is something to be said for sitting out on a picnic table, a cup of coffee by my side while I write this blog. 

King has a fire going and is sitting next to it with his latest batch of scratch-off lottery tickets in his hands.  It is his daily ritual – start a fire, walk the dog, work his scratch-off tickets. Even on the warmest of days he stokes the fire in the fire pit first thing in the morning. No one knows why. He likes the crossword puzzles lottery tickets and usually wins enough to turn around and buy more.  He sits by the fire, a quarter in his hand and takes his time scratching the little boxes. When it gets too warm to sit in the sun/by the fire he moves to the shade of our canopy. By mid-morning will venture into town to drive past the lighthouse and trade in tickets for new ones. (Wearing masks, of course).

Kal Haven Outpost (where we are staying for the summer) is a new campground. The young owners opened it in 2016. They work hard to keep the place clean and nice. While the RV campsites offer no shade, there are young trees planted at each site. Primitive sites are set in the woods. King and I do a lot of boondocking (primitive camping) in the winter months but since we are stationary for the summer, having amenities is nice. The owners are planning on adding sewer hookups to each site either this year or next and are hoping it might draw more seasonal campers. It’s a hefty financial undertaking for them and I would imagine this season is rather a-typical and probably just a little scary. I think by next month there will be three or four of use using the campground as a seasonal camp.

This morning the campground is a beehive of activity.  Children are racing around on scooters or bikes and people are walking their dogs. King and I keep to ourselves. We are that old, grumpy-looking couple people tend to avoid. King has years of practice at looking grumpy. As an assistant principal he dealt with school discipline. Remember when our mothers told us that if we continued to frown our faces were going to freeze that way? Our mothers were right. King has a perpetual stern look about him. Our children and I are the only ones who don’t take him seriously.

Earlier today a crop duster circled over the campground several times. We assume he is dusting the blueberry fields on the next road over, but since he dips below the tree line it’s difficult to pinpoint his exact location. To the east of us is the Gingerman Raceway. I can hear the racers as they make their way around the track. I never got into the sport, but I did, on occasion double-date with high school friends and sweethearts and go to the drag races in Martin. In my mind I can still here the radio ads for it on WLS radio out of Chicago.

The campground is not full, although the cabins in the back have been rented for the weekend. I think there are nine RVs and trailers here and quite a few tents, although it’s difficult to tell the number of tents because they are set back in the woods. The place was packed for Memorial Weekend, so I’ll be interested to see how full it gets for the Fourth. I’m guessing now that state parks are open it might not be quite so busy.  King and I drove through the Van Buren State Park this week. It is packed. Uncomfortably so. I understand the draw – Lake Michigan is just over the dune but with 10 to 15 feet of beach (and in some places even less) available I’d just as soon not venture out amongst people. I’ve always preferred to stay away from crowds, but it seems now it’s rather prudent to do so. Rather nice. I can be anti-social with an excuse.

It’s a quite existence. Last week our big excitement was the wind taking down our canopy.  We didn’t see rain in the forecast (and we didn’t get any), but the winds tend to whip through here like the prairies in Kansas.

King had played 27 holes of golf during the day and crashed early. I fell asleep reading a teen paranormal romance (I’m addicted) only to be awakened by the sound of the canopy assailing the side of the trailer. King was out. I woke him up and his response was, “We’ll take care of it in the morning.” Not acceptable. I went out into the wind and got the cover taken down (at least now there was no longer a sail attached to the flimsy metal structure). A group of 20-something young men stood in the doorway of the bathhouse watching me struggle but didn’t offer to help. I think they were afraid of me to be honest. I was pretty perturbed with King.  I gave up trying to fold-up the frame and lashed it to the picnic table for the night. We were able to salvage it and have it set up again, this time we watch the weather and take it down if storms are predicted.

That’s our lives in a nutshell. Pretty tame by most standards. Pretty comfortable for us.

We made it to June

We made it to June.

The state is supposedly still on shutdown, although I don’t see much difference other than signs reminding us to remain six feet apart and stores requesting patrons wear masks. I won’t weigh in on that debate. Suffice it to say King and I wear masks. What others do is up to them.  

We are waiting to see what happens. I know there are many who are desperately waiting to go back to work. Today we were reminded that there ARE those who are suffering during the shutdown as the line of cars at the Presbyterian Church food bank was almost out to the street.  Between the lockdown, protests, voting by mail debate and the upcoming election, it is going to be an interesting summer.

Life, however, has remained pretty much the same for the King and I.  He hates dining out, going out for coffee or congregating with people. He likes golf.  We work within those parameters. 

Every morning King gets up and starts a fire in the fire ring outside. One month in to our new domicile and we are on our second cord of wood.  Even on the days when it reached 90 degrees, King had a fire going. I quit wondering about his penchant for bon fires and campfires about 30 years ago. It’s just the way he is. Once the fire is going he grabs a leash and takes Cindy for a walk. She waits patiently next to me in bed until she hears the door open and then jumps up and is ready to go. That gives me time to make the bed and start breakfast. I’m an oatmeal type of girl. King likes eggs and toast. We sit by the fire in companionable silence until I get bored and start a project … sewing seat cushions, writing a column, painting rocks… and within five minutes he is ready to go to the store. He thinks it annoys me.  Truthfully I start working so he will decide it’s time to go. (And in 44 years of marriage he has never once read anything I’ve written so I can pretty much say whatever I want without fear of him learning my little secrets). 

Our daily trips entail a drive through the South Beach in South Haven, a stop at a convenience store to buy his Mountain Dew (I think he is the only 65-year-old on the planet who drinks Mountain Dew), and an occasional trip to the lumber yard. He is building a portable privacy fence around our propane tanks on the front of the trailer.

We find little things to keep us busy.

The other day we drove to Allegan County West Side Park to pick up rocks. I like large smooth flat rocks I can paint. While we are traveling out west I leave painted rocks at various locations and refer those who find them to post photos on “Paw Paw Rocks” Facebook page. The front of the rock is painted with a design, the back has the information for the Facebook page.  Three of our grandchildren live in Paw Paw and like to see where the rocks end up.  While at the beach I also collected lightening stones (stone septarian) that can be found along the shores of Lake Michigan in Allegan County. With the high water this year more rocks are tossed up onto what is left of the beach.  In the past I have made necklaces with the stones, but mostly I just keep them in jars around the trailer and cushion them in bedding whenever we move to a new location.

A few weeks ago there were turkeys visiting the campground -- three big toms and a flock of hens. I’m not up on turkey habits but we watched them strut around for quite some time conversing with one another. Then the fan tails came down and the hens came out of the woods. Either the boys were checking things out and telling the girls it was safe to come out or the girls decided the boys were no longer interested and decided it was safe to venture out.  We raised turkeys one summer.  The wild turkeys seem rather smart. Domestic turkeys have got to be the dumbest creatures anywhere.  I really hated those birds. But I cried like a baby when we had to catch them and take them to be processed. I’ll have to agree with King, I am a walking oxymoron.

Most of the time King and I are here in the campground alone. Memorial weekend it was busy. People pretty much kept to themselves, which is fine with us. This past weekend there were probably five or six sites with campers.  I prefer it empty, but I’m guessing the young couple who own the place (now in its fourth year) would be a little more comfortable with a few more people.

Our days are filled. Not with a lot, but enough to keep us married.

A lightning or septarian stone.

King finished the fence this morning. The statues are from his mother's garden in Plymouth, Mich.

My Dad gave Mom this sundial for their 
50th wedding anniversary. The dial broke
off years ago. 

Campground visitors in early May.

Practicing togetherness

Yesterday was the two week mark for being back in Michigan.  I’m guessing that means we made the cross-country trip from California unscathed. King and I subscribe to the “this is real and this is dangerous” line of thought when it comes to COVID-19, so two-weeks is presumably the safety zone.

While face masks are obviously not within our normal purview, social distancing is something King and I have been practicing for years.|

We have never been social creatures. While I truly enjoy going out to lunch or dinner – it’s mostly because I’m tired of cooking -- King does not like going out to eat. At all. Period. The end.  When an anniversary or birthday rolls around our daughter has to remind King that he should take me out to eat. She used to say, “That doesn’t mean McDonalds or Burger King. It means a sit-down restaurant.” She now has to add, “It doesn’t mean Big Boy, either. Take her someplace where she can order a Bloody Mary.” But we don’t have to worry so much about that now. Even with some restaurants opening I don’t see us going out any time soon.

Now golf…. Well that’s another story. King was quite concerned about being able to hit the links. It looks as though his concern was unwarranted. Courses have opened.

So for us, life has pretty much continued as it was before COVID-19.  There are a few changes the observant person might find interesting. Today I had to stand outside the grocery store with other masked strangers and wait my turn to enter. Who would have thought? As I was standing there I had the opportunity to observe people as they left.  It would seem “Have a nice day,” has been replaced with “Stay safe.” I rather like that. But again, who would have thought?

And I don’t mean to trivialize the impact the shutdown has had on people. I understand the need to get back to work, the frustration with unemployment applications and the worry of trying to pay bills with no income.  Been there.

And life goes on.

Since we got back we’ve been able to visit with our Michigan grandchildren. One son lives in Paw Paw and the other in Grand Haven.  We’ve visited both families but remained outside for both visits. I have to add in this instance the social distancing thing does have its advantages. There is no longer that awkward moment when saying hello or goodbye that you have to wonder, “Does this pre-teen really want me hugging him/her?”  The more shy grandchildren no longer have to slink out of the room when we say goodbye.

So after the excitement of visiting grandchildren, today was another in a long line of quiet days.

It’s been raining all day and the weather has driven King and I inside. These are the days when one really notices the togetherness of living in 192 square feet. King is lying in the bedroom watching the first season of Yellowstone on DVD. I’m sitting 10 feet away in the dining room – your typical small camper with bench seats and a table between them. I have folded the table down into a bed so I can sit with my feet up. Cindy is snoring next to me. Separating the front of the trailer where I’m sitting and the back of the trailer where King is watching TV is the galley on the left and the bathroom on the right. That’s it. That’s our house. It’s not for everyone. Even the best of friends don’t always like one another 24-hours a day. We simply make it work because if it doesn’t, friends and family can say, “See I told you living in a travel trailer was a dumb idea.”

While there are those who shake their heads and make disparaging remarks under their breath, there are others who often tell me, “I’ve always wanted to live in a trailer and just travel. It sounds like so much fun.”

Yes, we ARE having fun. But it’s not as if you can just sell off all your possession, hook up the trailer and go. There is a lot of behind the scenes planning. Things like auto insurance, health insurance, mailing addresses, annual physicals, emergency dental visits,  or even just carrying around an extra prescription for glasses (in case you accidently drive over your only pair because you left them on the tailgate while hooking up the trailer in the rain).   There is a learning curve for shopping when your refrigerator is not much bigger than a dorm refrigerator and your cupboard is 24 x 24 (inches).  And probably one of the biggest learning curves is learning to ignore snarky comments; learning to say snarky comments quietly enough so your deaf partner can’t hear you and learning to point your head in the other directions when saying quiet, snarky comments just in case your partner can see your lips moving – it’s an exhaustive list. 

It mostly works for us.

Mother's Day 2020

It's been a pretty subdued Mother's Day.

King and I went to a drive thru, got sandwiches and took them to the beach to watch the waves from the truck. I guilted him into it by telling him it was Mother's Day and since no one could visit he would have to substitute for the kids. We both knew I was fibbing. It is what it is. We are a close enough family that I.don't need anything special for Mother's Day. There will be plenty of other days for family gatherings.

One of our sons did stop by and give me a small plant. Since he has severe anxiety issues, the short stay and social distancing was probably a good thing for him.

Mother's Day brings about a lot of memories. Not so much about Mother's Day past, but about Mothers in general.

My cousin and I were talking (via Messenger) last night about horses and the memories of growing up with horses. I shared the following with her. Since it includes a memory of Mom it also makes a good Mother's Day post.

I had this big dumb Quarter Horse gelding when I was growing up. He was probably way too much horse for a rather mild-mannered equestrian (read he scared me sh--less). But he was born on the place which made his price one a frugal Dutch couple could manage. It never occurred to any of us that perhaps there might be a better fit somewhere in the equine world.

Mom, August 4, 1945. Her
wedding day. 

Chubby (the name of the horse) had a propensity of deciding when he had enough and would stand stock still. That was always a bad sign since his normal demeanor was prancing around and giving little crow-hops just for grins (his grins). Once he decided to not to move  you knew your next few minutes would include bouncing across the yard as he would then rear up and go over backwards. I learned to bail and roll. I was 12 at the time. He was a green-broke three-year old who could get away with it because, well, I was 12.

One day my younger sister, my BFF and I were going riding together when he decided "Nope. Not going to happen today."

As I rolled across the grass my friend took off on her horse to catch him. I picked myself up, spit out dirt and grass and counted my teeth then started down the road to meet her. We caught up with one another in front of the neighbors. My friend handed me the reins and Chubby started dancing around and stomping on feet. I'd had enough.

I took the reins from her and beat him across the chest spewing profanity that would make a sailor blush. My friend's eyes grew huge and she inclined her head slightly behind me. There stood Mom.

Mom was not impressed. "You get down on your knees right now and pray for forgiveness."

Up until this point in my life I had never talked back to my mother. But I looked at her and said, "Sure Mom. You hold the #$%#@# horse."

That was the last time I ever talked back to Mom. It was also the last time Chubby threw me.

Home Sweet Home

King and I made it back to Michigan and are spending day three in our new home.

So far we are quite pleased with it. Our little Shasta was 18 feet long. This one is 24 feet long. It's amazing what a difference six feet can make. No, it's not a fancy trailer. It's a 1983 model and has a few quirks. One of the windows was replaced by a previous owner. It doesn't match the rest. I'm not even certain it opens. I may try, but not today, or this week even. King and I have been driving cross-country together for three days and then spent a day loading stuff into our new home. Now would not be a good time to try to open a window and not be able to close it. I'll wait until neither one of us is crabby any longer. Maybe August.

We are staying at a seasonal campground outside of South Haven. It's not fancy but it is very, very nice. The owners are a young couple with young children. They have been very helpful and friendly and have gone out of their way to make sure we have what we need. (Their business prospect for the coming summer have to be pretty scary for them). It's a clean little campground with water and electric (no sewer, but there is a dump station on the grounds) as well as primitive campsites. The sites are nice, grassy spots (no shade). There are also several cabins to rent as well. It is located next to the Kal Haven Trail. If I were so inclined I could walk along the trail to either South Haven or Kalamazoo. Like opening the trailer window, it probably is not going to happen.

Although we are one of two trailers here early in the season (and the other one doesn't appear to be occupied at the moment) the campground has the potential to be rather busy. I am guessing this season will depend upon how people feel about camping this summer and the lifting of restrictions in the state. The place is booked for Memorial Day weekend -- people are banking on the State of Emergency being lifted by then. We were told after Memorial Day we could have our pick of campsites. We have no desire to hook up the trailer and move again so this site is where we will stay for the summer.

At a time when social distancing is becoming the norm, living at a campground will have some challenges. But we tend to be isolationists anyway. Anyone who knows King knows he's not the most friendly of people. It's not hard to keep up with the social distancing thing when 50 percent of us are not social. King's mother used to describe him as gregarious. I'm not certain that would be my first choice of words used to describe him.

So here we are in our new home, hunkering down for the summer. I plan on reading a lot, finishing an afghan I started last winter and sewing more face masks for friends and family. It has been suggested I could spend the summer decorating our new home. When we bought our Shasta in 2016 we basically tore it down to the studs (or whatever you want to call that flimsy wood they make trailer frames out of), repaired and replaced tired and worn out parts and I then repainted and  "glammed" up the inside. That's probably not going to happen with this one. We live in our trailer, full-time, along with our not-so-small dog. We camp, we don't stay at RV resorts. Where we are now is the closest we will get to a "resort." White walls and cute curtains are not really conducive to our dusty lifestyle. So I'm going to have to learn to embrace brown, which is what the inside of this trailer is. Brown. A lot of brown.  I may re-upholster the cushions and cornice boards but that's about it.

Anyway, people have been asking for photos of our new home. So here goes... It's a 1983 Fleetwood Wilderness. I apologize if the photos don't show up. My wireless connection is not the greatest.

There is a bed in the back. Obviously Cindy thinks it's hers. 

The galley area is small but serviceable. 

The table in front and the the cushions are in the lovely brown,
orange and beige colors of the 1980s.

T

Another view of the galley.

A fairly typical RV bathroom. Interesting thing
about this is the toilet paper roll is inside
the cabinet under the sink. The toilet sits
in front of it. One will have to plan ahead to
unroll the toilet paper before sitting down to
take care of business.

As an aside, our trip home was not a fun trip. We left on a Tuesday and arrived in Michigan late Thursday night. It was a lot of driving and included spending three hours outside of Tulsa getting a new fuel pump put on the truck. We are very grateful to the tow company and the mechanic who installed a new fuel pump in record time. However in the fixing of the fuel pump something got bumped or pulled under the hood and our "message center" is telling us we have no four-wheel-drive and the trailer brakes need servicing. Something to be added to our list of things to do. Not that our list is long. In fact, I think that is the only thing on the list.

 Driving across country during a  pandemic is interesting. Most people wore their masks. King and I did. We were also able to score some disinfectant wipes before we left California so we wiped down any of our purchases before using them. I give a lot of credit to the men and women who work at the gas stations and truck stops who have to deal with people from all over the country. Kudos to the truckers as well. Scary times.

Personally I think a prerequisite for every presidential candidate should be a cross country trip by car. Not a campaign trail, but an actual cross country trip where they pump their own gas; meet the cashiers who stand behind plastic shields; watch the farms roll by, and visit the tiny towns -- the ones without Wal-Marts and Costco. I think it would be good for them to really see how most Americans live. That's not a political comment, just an observation. Well, ok, maybe it is. I think too many politicians (from both parties) have lost touch with the people they serve.

Stay safe. Wash your hands. Don't touch your face. Wear a mask.