Cycles of Activity at Our Campground

Finally we’re having warm enough weather so that life, at least around the Airstream, is more as we’d imagined it.

We’re eating outside, I’m playing ukulele (quietly) outside, and even this very early morning I’m spending my one hour blogging (while I do my “stim” treatment for insomnia, ask if you’re curious) outside.

It’s chilly but the sky is quickly brightening, the Chickadees and Phoebes are singing, and Banjo is beside me with her nose up smelling what’s coming today on the morning air.

She and I went on a walk very early this morning (I’m always up early but this was unusual for Banjo who likes to sleep in until both Tracy and I are up together). By 6:00 am, most of the weekenders had left the campground, and the folks who live here were driving down the long driveway out to work, with their truck headlights on.

One woman on her way out to work stopped at the dumpsters (of course!), and her car back window was down beside her toddler in his carseat—he was talking away dramatically. I got a sweet wave.

Out where Banjo and I were farthest away on our walk, we ran into a guy packing up his tent in the dark. I kicked the dirt loudly as we walked up because we were coming from the woods, an unexpected direction.

This guy was by himself and was strapping on his motorcycle helmet, but he took it off to say good morning. We talked briefly about Banjo (yes, she looks like a hound but she has more husky in her than anything), and the fact that we both have owned bassets (agreed, the sweetest dogs around).

He said wasn’t traveling; he’d ridden from Norfolk just to camp and get away for a bit. I said, “Safe travels,” and he said warmly, “Enjoy your walk!”

He reminded me of several independent folks I’ve known who would ride out on their motorcycles by themselves to sleep in a tent on the first warm spring weekend, Tracy included.

So, yeah, over the weekend there were a bunch of campers here, and they had fires in their firepits all day and night, played patriotic music from their outside stereos (not appreciated), flew their self-identifying flags, and mostly rode around in golf carts.

From the conversations of a couple of girls who rode the campground loops on their bikes all day long, they come here nearly every weekend.

Last weekend when we first arrived we didn’t know better, but for sure weekdays are much quieter here.

Banjo enduring being outside last night while we waited for the stars to come out; she was ready for her bed inside per her old routine.

Oh, and now that we know we’re going to be here for a while, we took the kayaks and bikes off the truck. When we’re driving around, we no longer look like the Beverly Hillbillies after a trip to REI.

Heck, what am I talking about—unlike everyone we see around here, we’re not driving anywhere.

Edited to add: Of course it’s driving me nuts to see these people away from their homes, even the single dude on the motorbike. Where did he use the bathroom? Where did he wash his hands? We don’t leave the Airstream except to sit on our “porch,” take the dog for a walk, and pick up delivered packages. We’ve bought groceries only once in at least 11 days. I describe these folks through gritted teeth.