It was a great season at the camp, four months of that second cup of coffee on the front porch, brought indoors by the cool of early fall. We had lots of time to ourselves and big gatherings in celebration of milestone birthdays.
The heron, great big improbable bird, greeted us in the spring, went away, and bid us farewell in the fall. An eagle surveyed the cove.
We worked, real for-pay work, but we could take a swim when it was hot. It was a full summer. We took one weekend off and acted as if we were vacationers in town, doing touristy things and toured the lake by kayak and canoe.
A friend used to remind me that biblical storytellers would say that an event came to pass, not that it came to stay. A few years ago, some of you might remember, we started to live at the camp. The death of my wife's father and chronic illness of her mother flipped those plans onto another path. With the resilient support of her family and caretakers, Sandra's mother is doing pretty well.
We have a few ideas for next year, but we're not through with our ideas for this year yet. I have a good array of work ahead. I have friends I've not seen recently; it's easy to let people get away.
We have clusters of birthdays, holidays, and birthdays again. Laid out on a calendar, it looks crowded, but each one is special and worthy. Each birthday forces a hard question: how well do we know what's important to the person having the birthday? With little kids, it's easy because they'll tell you directly. As people grow, however, they might not even know themselves and so we have to try to help.
We worked hard to put things out of reach of mice and squirrels who will come in from the cold. We brought home the obviously edible stuff and packed everything made of cloth or paper in bins. The acorn crop was a bit better than average, so we can look forward to a cold winter.
My father said each fall the wet leaves are slipperier than snow. We drive carefully on the road covered with needles and leaves.
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