Tuesday, September 2
Tomorrow Bridget and I leave Horse Creek Camp.
We have reached the 16-day limit, so we need to find a new camp. Even though this is the camp where we buried Spike, I have positive feelings about it. It’s been a good camp. Spike liked it here.
Bridget and I have gone on several walks, every one of them like entering a postcard.
The thick grass that grows near Horse Creek and the many ponds has turned a vivid yellow-green as shown in the photo above. That pic hasn’t been enhanced. I don’t know what the flowers are in the foreground. They are one of the first plants to herald the coming of fall.
I want to go to the Wal-Mart there. It’s been a long time since I’ve cruised those aisles. I’m also looking forward to picking up my Amazon packages, especially the new laptop and new camera!
I’m also waiting for the stickers to arrive for the plates on the Perfect Tow Vehicle and the Best Little Trailer. I screwed up badly. With all my concern for Spike during his last days and then the grief during the days after his passing, I neglected to arrange for the renewal of the registrations.
They expired two days ago!
Last Friday I contemplated my predicament . . .
“Oh, shoot! I’m being pulled over.”
“Ma’am. I need to see your license and registration.”
“Here’s my license, officer. About the registration, see, I was about to have it renewed and then my dog died last week and — ”
“Ma’am. Step out of the car.”
Well, that’s not going to fly . . . . It’s like the dog eating the homework story.
I come up with an alternate plan.
I drive to the library in Dubois and use one of the computers there to go online, renew the registrations, and print out the email that says the registrations will be mailed. Hmm. . . Maybe showing the email will be better than the dog-dying excuse.
“Here’s my license, officer. About the registration, see, I took care of it online and paid with my credit card . . . .” I hand him the copy of the email. “And as you can see, the stickers are in the mail, but with Labor Day weekend and all, and you know how slow snail mail — ”
“Ma’am. Step out of the car.”
If y’all could pray for the Riverton police patrolling the roadways in the next few days, I’d appreciate it. Pray that they are in exceptionally good spirits and willing to forgive, especially an old lady in a hat driving with expired tags.
Hot showers! There are two places in the Dubois area where a vagabond such as myself can take a shower. One is the Lava Mountain Lodge a few miles northwest of town and the other is the laundromat located right in town.
I’ve partook — partaken? — whatever — in the glories of hot, streaming water a few times lately. The water pressure isn’t so great at the laundromat’s showers (It’s better at Lava Mountain Lodge), but who am I to be fussy. For about $2.50 worth of quarters I can wash my hair, get clean, and feel like a new woman!
I have something to add to Spike’s story.
First let me say . . . I’m the kind of nature-lover that cringes at the thought of defacing a tree. Initials and “I love so-and-so” are fun to see, but it’s not really my thing. I got over that for the sake of Spike.
The thought of Spike’s grave going unmarked bothered me. However, I didn’t want to draw the attention of anyone passing by to his final resting place. What I did was walk around to the other side of the aspen tree, the side that faces the woods, and, using Rusty’s pocket knife that he gave me last spring, I carved Spike’s name.
Spike’s grave is on the other side of those small aspens.
The date, “8-21-14” is lower on the tree.
Have you ever touched the trunk of an aspen?
When I finished carving, I brushed away the shavings and then placed my hands over Spike’s name. The bark is smooth. Strange as it sounds, the bark feels cool and warm at the same time. That’s sounds impossible, I know, but the next time you’re around aspens, take the time to touch one. Hold on to one. You’ll see what I mean.
While I stood there with my hands on the tree, an unusual thing happened.
A hummingbird buzzed around my head and settled on a branch within an arm’s length of me. He sat there for a a minute or two and we looked at each other. Then he flew off.
All my life, since childhood, I’ve been conscious of what the birds are doing around me. Other people may be having a great time doing stuff, but still, I know what those feathered creatures are up to. I’m aware of the English sparrow picking at a discarded McDonald’s wrapper in the parking lot. I notice the swallows making a nest in the eaves before entering a building. I hear the song of an oriole as I drive by with the window open. I don’t know why I do that.
I just do it.
Maybe you do that, too.
However, in all my almost 65 years or so of having this awareness of birds, I have never had a hummingbird sit on a branch in front of my face and look at me for that length of time. Not like that. I don’t know what to make of it. Maybe it’s not necessary to understand. It just is.
But it’s kind of nice, don’t you think?
NOTE: Tomorrow will be a busy day. I won’t reply to comments. Could you pretend to be me and make sure everyone gets a reply, welcome, an answer to their question, etc. If enough blogorinos reply to a couple of comments, everyone will be a part of the conversation. I don’t know if that will work, but we could try it. Our community has grown to a size where I can’t keep up with it after every post. I don’t want those folks who came out of lurkdom to disappear forever. Thank you!
AND THANK YOU FOR SHOPPING AMAZON FROM MY BLOG!