PNewL PNewS
Volume 25 Issue 3 “All the pnews that phits.” September 2017
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One of those Days
It started with Roger the dog having a
seizure. He has them on occasion. I think they are seizures—it’s what I call
them. He shakes his head, yawns, looks at me in hopes I could help him. It
lasts for as long as it does. This was a long one.
Meanwhile, outside it was grey but not
raining. I had decided to leave Camp a day early because the weather report for
the next day was not good and included wind which would rile up the bay and
cause for an uncomfortable boat trip for Roger who is just getting used to
boats.
I spent the next four hours having
breakfast, cleaning up, finishing the closing up process, and loading the boat.
Roger slept on the dock, directly in my path. His seizures make him sleepy.
The rain was supposed to start in the
afternoon but the report was for calm seas in the early afternoon. (I had found
a radio in the cookhouse a couple days earlier and found a weather report with
a mechanical voice that became my go-to guy. I can get pretty attached to a
weather report on a semi-remote island.) Reality seemed to be sticking closely
to the prediction. I finished my chores just before noon and we were off.
It’s always hard to leave Osawa, an island
on Georgian Bay in Ontario that has belonged to my family since the ‘40s. I
share it with close to 300 of my closest relatives but on this trip there were
13 at the high point and six at the low. It was heaven. Leaving brings up all
the emotion of all the years, of all the memories, of all the people who are no
longer with us, and then there’s the when-will-I-return? issue—it’s fraught…with
a lot of stuff!
This was Roger’s first trip and while the
boats were not his favorite part, the island became his turf. He explored parts
of it I have never seen. He’d chase off into the bogs and gulleys and come back
looking so proud of himself. The paths seemed to be particularly deep in moss
this summer and I think it felt good on his paws. There was water to drink
everywhere! And there were only a few people to be terrified of on any given
day. He continues to be an island dog and I couldn’t be happier.
The trip into the Station was pretty much
uneventful. Roger had climbed under the console on the way out and I thought he
might disconnect some wires in the process, but he was a little less frantic
this time. As we hit the S Channel, I noticed the sky darkening. Hadn’t thought
about loading the van in a storm. Turns out there was nothing to worry about,
and after a fairly lengthy process, we were heading north on Route 69. I’d say
it was painless but it turns out I had scraped my shin—not deeply but long, and
it bled a lot.
The drive north was fun because I hadn’t
been there in a very long time. The traffic heading south was heavy and I felt
pretty smug in the light traffic going my way. Many miles short of Sault Ste
Marie, I started looking for a campground. I saw a sign by the side of the road
for the Ojibway Park: The Sun Sets Here. Perfect. The Ojibway is not only one
of the local indian tribes (is that politically incorrect? I apologize) but it’s
also an island in the archipelago where we hang out.
Finding this campground was a whole other
issue. It’s on Indian land and there are all kinds of signs about not
trespassing. I stopped a woman near one of those signs and she gave me
directions, which I immediately misinterpreted. I went back up the highway,
which didn’t seem to have many exits, and turned back around and tried a
frontage road. I thought I would have to give up and return to a small town 25
miles back where I’d seen the last campground when a big sign announced I was
there. I was pooped, but thrilled to be “where the sun sets” as it was not long
til that was going to happen.
After checking in, I took a spin through
the campground to find our spot. On the second pass, I was headed for a place
just over there, when I saw a guy coming out of a more remote spot and wanted
to check it out. It was a dead end in a swamp. Looking at my left mirror only
(key piece of information), I started backing up. Instead of backtracking, I
headed a wee bit further left than I wanted to be. I was in sand. Some distant
memory told me not to fight sand. I walked back to the office and asked what to
do. She said something like “You aren’t the first.” I bit my tongue, preventing
me from saying something--with a few expletives laced in--about how a sign or
two might prevent that from happening. Actually there had been a sign that said
“Rough Camping.” No kidding.
Within a few minutes, the security dude
showed up. He wasn’t allowed to actually do anything, but he “knew a guy” and
an image of dollar signs flashed in my mind. Suck it up Peggy, you brought this
on yourself. A few more minutes later, security dude plus adult son, mom, and
grandson arrive. He’s a tow truck driver at his day job. Score! I am
embarrassed to say I can’t remember their names (the grandson’s name was Mason,
which I remember because there was a lot of Mason! Come here/Stop that/Get out
of the way!). They were the nicest people in the world that evening. After
another few minutes, a guy came through in a honking big truck and leaned out
the window and asked if he could help. The tow truck driver said sure. Soon,
Christopher joined in the fun along with his itty-bitty wife and two young and
also itty-bitty kids.
They
went this way and that—where was the hardest ground? Which way was least likely
to damage any of the vehicles? Was this do-able? It was amazing to me how every
time they moved the van to a new spot, that spot, seemingly hard ground when
you walked on it, liquefied into a sandy beach. When Christopher lost his
optimistic demeanor and the mosquitos started swarming, I thought we were done
for. And thankfully, it was then that they popped the Rogermobile out of the
sand. The bike rack got lightly crunched and Christopher’s license plate was
bent, but after two hours of all of us (including the security dude) urging
them on, we all went home happy. I offered payment, I offered beer or
chocolate, but they would take nothing. “This is what we do.” (And I have never
been more grateful.)
After I set up camp, fed poor beleaguered
Roger, I took stock. I was covered in mosquito bites, looked a bit disheveled
from the day, and had dried blood from the earlier scrape covering a major
portion of my shin that I hadn’t noticed til then. They must have thought I was
someone who needed help, and they were so right. Thank goodness for the
kindness of strangers.
Things I am Learning
& Miscellaneous Observations
• I
live in a pretty great neighborhood. There are folks to wave at on the road and many stop to check in. We have Cocktails @ the Mailboxes on occasion for somewhat
deeper check ins. There are fruit and vegetables to share. It’s, well,
neighborly. Sadly, one of the group was diagnosed with a probable fatal
condition. He has been given the prognosis of a year. Yes, it is very sad, and
while he is not the first person I’ve known who had a death sentence, for some
reason this has been haunting me ever since—and this pnews is, after all, all about me. Often as I am doing something
now, I think what if I only had a year? I find it fascinating. And it makes for
some interesting conversations. Try it at home.
• As
I was walking around the compound (my property) the other day, I kept thinking,
next year the garden policy will be “scorched earth.” I just googled it and the
usual definition is a military one—the outcome being massive destruction.
Look out weeds you are in my sights! This being a rainy summer during which I
was away for stretches, the out of doors is out of control. Too far gone this
year to deal with, I think. Next year, I’m covering everything with cardboard
or plastic or something and there will be some destruction, mark my words.
•
When I am walking with Roger, I often think of things I want to remember. This
morning I thought the first two things kinda sounded like a name: Tere Moss.
That would be easy…and then Tere Moe Moss and by the end, Zane Tere Moe Moss
PatsErn. And I even remember what each of those names represents. Ta-dum!
• On
this evening’s walk, I was looking at the view—it was that lemony buttery light
that comes at the end of the day. The colors were beautiful, and I thought,
there is something that reminds me of a watercolor this evening. Then I
realized it was because I wasn’t wearing my glasses.
• In
my mail when I returned from a recent away-time, I received one mailing from a
funeral service company and not one but two mailings (from the same company
with exactly the same address and reference numbers) from Maximizing Social
Security Adult Learning Center. I guess this is what happens when one turns 60.
•
Laura asked me about the Whole 30 food plan I had mentioned in the past and
where I was with it now. Bad timing I am afraid, but here’s the confession.
While I am pretty good about some of it—limited dairy, wheat, grains,
beans—other things have creeped back in. I was non-compliant for a good part of
the summer and some of the weight creeped back in, but I’m still ahead of the
game and I feel there’s hope for the future. I was pretty depressed for part of
the summer and that was when other things swung out of control so…here we go
again. Wish me luck!
•
Another Mayberry Moment: On my way out of town on this last trip, I saw the
nice man at the downtown Weaverville auto repair shop out front so on a whim I
pulled in and asked him if he would mind checking my tire pressure. No problem.
We chatted. He asked if I still had “that hybird.” It was a nice way to leave
town. I got him the cutest little bottle of maple syrup in Northern Michigan.
Love that small town thing…most of the time!
• I
screwed up. When I went to Wyoming, I drove right through the town where an old
friend lives. I did not contact her. I did not visit her, and now I have lost a
friend. She was so hurt she asked to be deleted from the PNewS list. I am sorry. I thought of her, I meant to tell her and
it got lost in the process. Sigh.
• I
have a neighbor who thinks it’s going to be a hard winter so I hesitate to say
this but I look forward to a good frost. Kill all those buzzy things buzzing
around my house!
• The morning after the event described above at Ojibway Park, I started off early to get the border crossing over and start the long slog back home. All was uneventful at the border until he said, are you heading south on 75? And I said yes and he said, the Mackinac Bridge is closed til one o’clock for Labor Day. (They used to close half of it so folks could walk on it. Now with people driving cars into large crowds, they’ve closed the whole bridge.) Huh. So much for getting started early. I spent the next many hours exploring the eastern edge of the Upper Peninsula. What a lucky turn of events! Saw some of Lake Superior and some of Lake Michigan and a lot of both the Upper and the Lower Tahquamenon Falls. It was lovely and I will be back. (I spent that night in a state park near Bay City, which was great, and the next night—700 miles later—at home, but that’s another story.)
• The morning after the event described above at Ojibway Park, I started off early to get the border crossing over and start the long slog back home. All was uneventful at the border until he said, are you heading south on 75? And I said yes and he said, the Mackinac Bridge is closed til one o’clock for Labor Day. (They used to close half of it so folks could walk on it. Now with people driving cars into large crowds, they’ve closed the whole bridge.) Huh. So much for getting started early. I spent the next many hours exploring the eastern edge of the Upper Peninsula. What a lucky turn of events! Saw some of Lake Superior and some of Lake Michigan and a lot of both the Upper and the Lower Tahquamenon Falls. It was lovely and I will be back. (I spent that night in a state park near Bay City, which was great, and the next night—700 miles later—at home, but that’s another story.)
“Maybe crazy is just the word we use for feelings that
will not be contained.” Anna
Quindlen, “Every Last One”
