So I was sitting on my cot, minding my own business (which happened to be a bag of doritos) when some guy comes up to me and tells me not to eat in the tent because it "attracts snakes". I told him that it was ok because diamondbacks and vipers prefer Cool Ranch to Nacho Cheese. He didn't think that was a very funny thing to say.
It is weird to live in a temporary place. A location that will dissolve to sands and wind when we leave it. Everything we have we fly in. There are no foundations to any buildings. Cargo containers with shipping labels from around the globe are strewn at every corner.
There is kind of a distance to it all. We do things here that are just like home, but not ever just like home. Like here you wake up to an alarm clock and go take a shower. but you don't hang your towel on a rack you hang it on the pistol grip of your assault rifle. Not like my house at all. there is a sign on the chow hall that says no entry without a weapon. A distinct deviation from the practices of restaurants I have thus far patronized. I also question the wisdom of banning sex and alchohol and shrinking the living quaters to a minimum while at the same time requiring everyone to carry a loaded firearm. I am suprised more people don't go postal.
I will pass second hand information here due to a complete lack of desire for validation of the facts. Evidently, the sanitation system of the rural locals is comprised mostly of wiping their ass with their left hand and eating with their right hand. Obviously this is not a foolproof means of stopping the vectors of disease. Maybe thats part of the reason the life expectancy around here is 39. Enough of that.
I saw my name on the Mail Room list but I was unable to pick up my package. This is a great cause of dismay because there was no legitimate reason to deny me my rightful property. Some private, who has grown disgruntled and unhappy, has decided to take it out on me by denying me my package. boy. She has succesfully lorded that power over me. Now give me my box. I hope with a fools hope that this incident has raised her self efficacy to a point where she can feel validated as a person and no longer feels the urge to tell random strangers "no" when the real answer is "yes". She is one of the many many reasons why I like to sit quietly, alone and read. I don't even know her name.
Tomorrow I shall awake with the enthusiasm and vigor that accompanies the optimism of expected success. I shall get my box from that mail room wench. Oh yes. It will be mine.
I also hope that noone mailed me cool ranch doritos because that attracts deadly vipers.
I am going to retire the the ol' hooch and catch 40. I have been awake way too long.
Lots of love and delirious from lack of sleep.
-Bert
63 Years of Memories....
63 Years of Memories....
that's what I have now. The photo below shows the chair on the point which for so many years was my father's favorite after-supper place to contemplate and cast for walleye. As much as I feel guilty about what's happened, I know he would understand and even say there's nothing to forgive. He lived life fully and moved on many times. I'm the one with the unique experience of being attached to a beautiful place for my whole life. And despite all my best efforts, yesterday the 'cabin' was sold. I signed the papers and, truth be told, a weight was lifted. A new life lies ahead without the obligations, but with all of the wonderful memories. My unrelentingly positive attitude says this is truly how it is, but my heart is still sad.
There are some things in life for which the balance between the obligation and the joy of ownership often cannot be sustained forever. It became clear that I was no longer up to the task of taking care of the place quite a while back. However, knowing what needs to be done and doing it are often far apart. Finally, no choice was left. It had to be sold.
Now it's gone. No more worrying about how long the grass or how deep the snow is up there. No more sublimely pleasurable early morning cups of coffee sitting on the dock when the color of the lake is like pale blue glass and the air is completely still. No more endless repairs, high taxes, and utility bills. No more late nights around the fire pit with friends and family - warm from both fire and friendship. No more frozen pipes or emergency calls to the furnace guys. No more saunas and midnight skinny dipping that make you feel like you'll live forever while your connection with nature is confirmed by the gazillion stars of the milky way and the loons calling out in the dark. No more concerns with low well water levels or water so hard and full of iron the clothes turn yellow and your newly washed hair feels like brillo. No more finding the way home by boat in the dark after a long day on the lake feeling like this is the only place you really, really belong. No more praying that the boathouse will make it another year without collapsing. And ultimately, no more making new memories with friends, family and loved ones. No new memories, that is, at Half Bay, Lake Vermilion, Tower, MN. New life... here we come!
How do you thank a place for memories?
1 comment:
ahhhh! your mother was a hampster and your father smelt of elder berries. good facts on vipers and rattlers, i gotsta take back my chips now. actually we dont live in tents we are in 30'x10' rooms(3 peeps) lucky got to get a good job (granite it is probably tougher than mine). dont like TF Knighthawk...try TF BoB...yeah...no, i aint shittin ya. havent had any dust storms yet although is has flooded 2x. im talkin this damn place stinks when it rains. no pics of the airfield or the toc...we were like that then they got over it. we dont necessarily take group photos in here but personal pics get done. i go home in 5(ish) weeks for r&r and it will be mightily needed....have a wonderful day -dom
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