Our second campsite at Bumblebee Meadows is at the end of a lane in a secluded clearing.
When we arrived at Bumblebee Meadows this Sunday, two campsites were occupied. By noon we have the Meadows to ourselves. In the afternoon, shade moves over the Best Little Trailer.
The crew and I take the path from our campsite through the woods to the river.
It smells like Christmas trees here, the way Christmas trees are supposed to smell.
The North Fork of the Coeur d’Alene River is very clear. You can see the bottom, even in deep places. Flat river rocks create a natural mosaic.
And fallen trees provide a natural bridge for critters to cross over to a small island that splits the river.
Back at camp I take care of some chores. I complete tasks outside whenever possible, not because of the heat. I always prefer being outside, unless it’s bitter cold.
Monday, August 12
Bridget, Spike and I lounge in the shade of our campsite. The crew enjoys the soft, cool grass. The only sound is the rushing river and constant buzz of bees.
I’m reading my kindle when I hear a truck approach. I stand up and see it’s pulling a travel trailer. Gee, the entire area is empty with several spots along the river and they have to camp right next to us. Oh well, maybe the site has sentimental value or something.
I go back to my reading.
However, my mind wanders. Clingers . . . People who have to camp next to other campers . . . Hmm . . . Could be a bad sign.
Bridget and Spike commence barking. Quickly I quiet them, telling them everything’s okay. The woman barks orders to the man backing the trailer in.
Okay. Unnecessarily loud. Another bad sign. Never mind. They’ll settle down in a little while.
I return to my reading.
The generator starts. Oh, crap. Generator people! Of course!
The voice in my head — that voice of goodness — admonishes, “You can’t expect everybody to live and camp the way you do.” Okay, okay. They have a right to run a generator. I can live through the time it takes to charge their batteries. I try to block out the noise.
I return to my reading.
I can’t focus on the words. Golly, that’s one noisy generator. Where the hell did they buy it — Beijing? I try to concentrate but I can’t. Oh this is hopeless. I might as well find something to do inside.
Inside the BLT I fuss around tidying up the place.
Dang, that’s irritating! The goodness voice in my head says, “Just be patient. They’ll turn it off soon. Don’t get yourself all worked up.”
I make myself a snack and sit on the bed munching. Spike and Bridget are on the floor. Spike lies down for a nap. Bridget sits looking up at me with her worry face on.
“Remember when we used to hear the river, Bridge? Remember the lovely buzz of the bees? Hang on tight to that memory because Lord knows when you’ll ever hear it again.” Grumbling does help, but only for a moment.
Hours go by and the generator grinds on.
I pace around the campsite in a nervous fret. I hate it when I get this rattled. Too much noise over an extended period of time always makes me crazy. It’s been about three hours now. Oh no, I’m getting that weird tingling in my arms when my nerves are shot. I can’t put up with this.
The man comes out and looks at the generator.
My heart leaps. Oh please oh please oh please . . . He does nothing and goes back inside. Dear God in Heaven, help us!
I walk over to their campsite. I have no idea what I’m going to do when I get there. First thing I notice is their sad-faced dog is tied up outside, right next to the generator, as if he’s guarding its evil work. Spike whimpers a hello. The dog barks in return. No matter. The people can’t hear either of them over the generator noise. Plus all their windows are closed.
All their windows are closed?
All their windows are closed! The implication of this last tidbit of info rises up and strikes me like a fist pounded between my eyes. These people aren’t charging batteries. They’re running air conditioning and probably TV. They’re gonna’ run that damn generator all day, maybe all night!
At this point I know I can’t talk to these people.
If I open my mouth to speak, surely my anger will spew out like steam from a busted radiator hose on a summer afternoon. I’d scald them so badly . . . The goodness voice has no comment. Good thing, ’cause I’m in no mood . . .
The crew and I trudge back to our campsite.
“Well, guys. Say goodbye to this sweet place. We’re going back across the meadow.”
I pack and secure everything with a vengeance. Darn inconsiderate people! By the time I toss the crew in the PTV and slide in behind the wheel, I’m fighting back tears. Tears of frustration. Oh, this is ridiculous. It’s only a campsite. For heaven’s sake, pull yourself together.
I drive out of our campsite and pass by their campsite.
I look down at the symbol of a horn imprinted at the center of the steering wheel. The goodness voice says, “Don’t even think about it. How immature. You’re above that kind of behavior.”
Like hell I am.
BEEP! BA-BEEP-BEEP! BEEP! BEEEEEEPP!!!!
I keep going, looking over at the side mirror. The man runs outside, head a-swivelin’, clearly dumbfounded, until he sees the back end of the BLT retreating down the lane. He watches the antenna pole wave as we go away.
Our third campsite at Bumblebee Meadows is in full sun.
It may not be much to look at, but it’s quiet.
rvsue
Note: Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying people shouldn’t have generators. This was a situation of too much, too close, unnecessarily. So don’t be mad at me, okay?
Further Note: We leave early the next morning. Not because of the generator incident, but because there’s no internet at Bumblebee Meadows and I want to get the blog caught up. I also want to move us toward western Washington and the coast!
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