Why do I like camping again??

 

I went camping last weekend and short of snow and hail, experienced every kind of weather: it was cold, windy, hot, rainy, stormy, and sunny (I really only asked for sunny and a campfire...). It was amazing how different the weather was every time you looked at the sky!

 

We got there on Thursday afternoon.

The campsite was very open, not really what we would have wanted, but the other one was flooded, and not operational yet. The bathrooms were at least a block and a half away, and the playground across from there. It was really a set up for RV's.

 

First  item: setting up the tent.  The bit of a breeze when we started, turned into a full blown gale in no time. The strong wind flattened the tent out till it looked like a camel with a hump! But since the wind might bring rain, and I did not want  the inside of the tent wet (the top being open), we struggled with the fly till we got it done.

 In this wind we could not make a fire, or even start up the camp stove. So we found it necessary to travel back to Drumheller for our supper. The place was busy, so a long wait with two little kids, but we got through it. The wings were fantastic, and there were enough left-overs so James could eat something when he got here with the horse trailer.

After parking the trailer, James started a fire, while Leanne put her little ones to bed. Finally a bit of real camping. Then he set up the camp kitchen, ate the toasted leftovers and left for Strathmore again: he had to work in the morning.

 Friday morning saw Leanne making pancakes and frying bacon. We had a lazy day, with a walk to the nature trail (very short, most of it still under water), and some play time in the play ground. We made a big supper with mashed potatoes, fried chicken, and veggies, expecting James and Cohen to be there to help us eat it.

 

Not! James was late finishing a job. Then when he got to our place to pick up Cohen, Jyron was there fiddling with his Corvette. They did not get to the site till 10:30pm.

The little boys were in bed by then, extra food put away, and the fire doused per regulations. Leanne and I went to bed with the wind coming up again. Later she got up for more water. James would like some hot chocolate. Back to bed. 

 

The wind got rough, and we were afraid it might tear the awning off the trailer. Some young men from a neighbouring campsite helped us haul it up. Then we carried everything into the back of the trailer. Finally our guys appeared. Cohen bedded down in the trailer. James joined his wife, trying to soothe the boys who were scared of the mighty winds that made the doors clang and my tent flat...

 

I fell asleep, eventually, with the rain coming down hard.

The next morning I woke up to more rain.

 

Why do I like camping again?????

 

A ways down the road were some campers having lots of fun, regardless of the weather. They had put up tarps over picnic tables and played games, ate food and drank coffee (presumably, I did not visit them!). Yes, that looked like fun. May be it was about company?

The tent started to leak a bit of water. I could not make tea because everything had been put away. And it was still raining, and we had no tarp or awning up.

 

Then James got up, and Leanne, and the little boys, and everything changed. Now it was fun as we enjoyed each other's company. James made breakfast and coffee, not expecting me to do anything, just sit and enjoy.

 

Later Peter came and we had lunch together. The sun was shining, and we were all together sitting under the awning, which had been tied down, to catch some of the shade! Fickle weather.

 

So that was our first annual family camping trip. We are already making plans for next year, and improving on this one. Hopefully Louise will be there, and Linda and her family, and Peter, and the site will be nicer with trees etc. And may be a beach and some fishing spots...

 

So it was a good experience after all. I enjoyed being with Leanne, and watching her with the kids. I enjoyed watching James take over and cooking breakfast. It was fun seeing the boys make a  sandbox out of every bare spot in  the grass:) And I can't imagine what shape I would be in if I always had to walk that far to the bathroom?!

 

 

 

 

Blue Bronna re-visited

Spring Ladies' Retreat.

It was a beautiful day when I left the house for my trek to Blue Bronna Wilderness Camp, with a little bit of a breeze from the West and lots of sunshine. I had packed my raingear, but would I need it?

Soon though, dark clouds came into view, lightning cracked the sky and rain came down so fast my wipers could not manage the water. I didn't have rubber boots...

As quick as it started, it stopped again. Calgary was behind me now and in the rear-view mirror I could still see the pitch black clouds flashing angrily.

But ahead of me were the mountains and the green fields of the Foothills. I was not in a hurry, and stopped in a quiet spot along a river to eat something. The wind rustled in the trees, and the water scrambled over the rocks, what peace!

The landscape changed, more open spaces on hills far and wide. I was looking for landmarks. The fence posts on my right were wearing caps, all faded from  the weather. Once on the gravel road into Kanaskis country, progress was slow, with many cow/calf sets on the road. One brown mama was waiting for her black baby to get through the fence. I waited for awhile, too. They walked on till there was a break in  the wire. What a different pace out here in the hills!

The camp was the same and different: the same cabins, same cookhouse, different cook, different campfire place. I was impressed with the staff. They were all so young and so capable all visibly serving Jesus Christ!
Where else would you find two girls from opposite sites of the globe (Canada and New Zealand) singing worship songs in the kitchen?

The  evening started with introductions. The teachers were three ladies from a church in Longview. We were in for a study weekend on four attributes of God: God is Holy; God is Lord over all; God is Truth and Truthful; God is Lawgiver and Judge. (by Paul Washer.)
Some very scary traits if you don't belong to Him! God is Love, too, and that's why He sent His Son to save us from Judgment.

Saturday afternoon was kept open for some outdoor activity. Some went for a walk, others went for a horseback ride, or took a nap. I went for the ride. It was beautiful! All around we heard birds as we rode through meadows full of spring flowers. We crossed many creeks, running fast. It made me feel dizzy, splashing through them. I kept my eyes on the far side, instead of looking at the swirling waters below. 

That evening we sang songs around the campfire . We were from many different backgrounds, but singing about the God who saves, brought us together!

On Sunday morning we had worship, and then the last teaching of the weekend. We finally got to know each others a bit, and now it was time to go. A last lovely lunch together, some exchange of emails, and the weekend was over.

Thank you God, for your creation, for us to enjoy; the teachings, so we can get to know you better.

The ripple effect.

It is amazing how life changes when something happens outside of the routine of life. Of course, the birth of a baby, the death of a parent, but also everything in between.

On Wednesday morning L's mother-in-law found her husband paralyzed on the floor in their bathroom.  To the local hospital first, then to Edmonton. By that time the son has made the trip north: ripples--not going to work today, pack a bag and go to Edmonton, phone the rest of the family.

Later in the day L. decided to go north as well: ripples--her sister takes time off from work to drive her there, oma and opa will look after the grand children overnight.
Then the snow starts: ripples--they can't come home as planned, will have to stay another night, visiting with brothers and sisters-in-law.

In the mean time everyone has to deal with the results of the stroke: memory loss, poor vision, numbness. Ripples--no more work, rehab., changes in retirement.

Everywhere people are praying.
And God answers prayer!
The prognosis has changed from poor to total recovery! Ripples-- increased faith, joy, appreciation for what is.

Made into His likeness

Then God said, "Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness"... (Gen.1:26)

That's how we were created.

But I have noticed that we also have that desire within us. We want to create the people around us in our image. We expect them to think like us, believe like us, live like us, dress like us...
We are critical of other lifestyles, how people use their money, how they live, because we think the only right way of living is the one we live.

What is the answer?
How can we come to an agreement to live a  certain way without expecting everyone to be like us?

When God took the Israelites out of Egypt, He was faced with a group of people who had grown up with Egyptian gods, and some oral history about where they came from. To make them into a unified and holy people, He gave them directions for living that would please Him.

We too have come out of the Egypt of slavery to sin, into the wilderness, on our way to the Promised Land. God saved us through faith in the sacrifice of His Son. He wants to make us into a Holy and separated people, who live according to His will.

We can find God's will in the Bible. As a gift He has given us the Holy Spirit to help us.

And we will be made into His likeness.

little town/drugs

Ours is a small town, just over 1000 occupants on 6 streets and avenues, and three drives.
We don't have a school for our kids, they get bussed out of town to elsewhere. You would think such a small town was safe from drugs, but it isn't.

Right in the middle of the few streets and avenues is a large house. It started out as a plain small house, but every so often it got built onto. The last addition was a second floor. In the diminishing back yard is a play house with flags, just like any other house with boys  might have.
And that's where the local king of drugs lives.

In our town you might see a girl, waiting at dusk by the railroad tracks, for a small package. Or, on your walk to church, you might find a pill bottle filled with green stuff. Or you might wake up early one morning to the sirens of neighbouring police cars, surrounding the house. Or you hear that your son was offered pills from a kid down the street.

We're just a small town, but big enough to have drugs!

Small town suicide

The house always looked dark, even when the lights were on. Years ago there was a small yipping dog in the yard that showed that someone was living there. In the Winter there were car tracks to show someone left or had come home.
Then the doggie died.
It was hard to tell if the occupant was home or not, with a job that required him to be gone 3-4 weeks at a time.
Then there were no more car tracks.
Then there were the ambulance and police.
The car was in the garage, and the man in it, dead.

What a sad life, and I feel guilty that I never knocked on the door with Christmas cookies. He had parents, who did not visit until he was dead.

The house went up for sale.
But it is seldom that I walk past and not think about the man who committed suicide, so lonely in such a small town. Lord, forgive me.

Small town and its people

On my street lives an elderly lady in a blue and white mobile home. I used to see her walk by with her black spaniel. The yard of her place is a bit rough looking. The grass gets cut, but the edges are full of weeds, and so is the flower bed. Getting older is not easy. your mind still wants to do all those things, but the body does not cooperate anymore. Today her garden is covered with snow again, after an April snow storm. It is only slowly melting, with the weather just above zero.

A year ago she asked a young woman in town to watch her dog while she went to the hospital for surgery. Ah, anaesthetic is not good for the elderly.
She came home, physically okay, but her mind had gone wandering.
She stopped walking her dog. Now she can't dress herself anymore, she forgets to eat or drink, or go places. Left to her own devices she would just sit on the couch.

But beautifully, she is not left to her own devices. She has a son in town who takes her to her appointments, a grandson who loves her, a daughter-in-law who cares for her, and the young woman stayed and helps her with the daily things she can't do anymore.
She gets picked up for coffee visits every Wednesday, and goes to the hockey games with her grandson.
Small town at work, fellowship alive.

The dog died, much to her sorrow. She enjoyed its company, and even in her confused mind, she misses her. Getting older is not easy.

I got a package of seed in the mail.

Almost March, and seed catalogues give me visions of Summer rains on neat rows of garden produce.

That, of course, is wistful thinking. Every year I yearn for this garden with straight rows, and without weeds; enough rain to keep plants growing, but not so wet as to get root-rot in the low areas. Yet every year the business of daily life interferes with weeding and watering. It is a miracle that we have a harvest at the end of Summer.

My cousin sent me beet seed in the mail. They are easy to grow. Beets don't mind the cold Spring nights, or the warm Summer days, as long as they have water. There is so much promise in that small paper packet with the picture of the mature plant on the outside. But it takes work. I must take them out of the kitchen drawer, prepare the soil, cover the wrinkly little seeds, water the rows, and thin the plants. The seed must die in the ground before there can be a harvest.

I was thinking of the gift of Salvation God gives us when we are born again. Could it be like a package of seeds? The picture of the mature plant gives hope when God tills the soil of my soul, and allows Summer storms to come upon my garden. He is the Gardener, and weeds out evil, and thins my busy days, so there may be a harvest.

Eph. 2:10 "For we are God's workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do."

Give us today our daily Bread

Bread: white, whole wheat, spelt, kamut, gluten free, different grains; flat, round, buns, loaves, with sunflower seeds or cornmeal, for wieners or hot-dogs; yeast or sourdough; in plastic bags, or paper bags with a window. I wonder if the Israelites invented that many uses for their manna. Lovely, satisfying fresh bread!

Remember that smell?

I've never seen my mother bake bread. The baker came to the door, and brought the smell with him. He sold her half a loaf of warm whole wheat, and on Saturdays also half a loaf of white bread in a paper bag. Fresh white bread with butter and syrup, yummy! How simple life was, white or brown. Nothing complicated like flax seed, or 12 grain. I don't believe the baker ever brought cookies to our door. Mom made those herself, or bought them from  the grocery store.

The person who introduced me to home made bread was my father, who baked a red spice bread for Christmas. I never thought to ask him for the recipe, and now I can't, since he's been gone a long time.

My next experience with home-made bread came after I immigrated to Canada. My cousin always   made buns, buying bread was not part of the local culture. From her I learned what the dough should feel and look like, how important the kneading and the temperature of the water were. I was eager to learn: the first loaves I made in my basement suite were hard as bricks! You could build a house with them. They smelled like the real thing, but they were disappointing to eat.

But now I can make whole wheat bread fluffy and light, with molasses for sweetener, and peanut butter for extra protein. On a baking day there may be three whole wheat loaves and dozens of 60 % and white buns standing on the table to rise, waiting for their turn in the oven. Cheese buns are a favorite. I like cinnamon buns, too, with cream cheese icing of course.

When I was homeschooling I used bread as an object lesson for patience: "Patience is waiting without complaining."  (Konos curriculum) One way to drive the idea of waiting home, was watching bread rise! Funny, the things you remember.

Of course, as a mother, you never watch the bread rise, because there is the laundry to hang and the bathroom to clean and the dishes to wash. That's why there are beepers and ringers on our appliances, to warn us of the next task that's waiting for us.

The bread has cooled off, so I'm going to put it in bags and in the freezer, except one dozen, delicious, fresh, cheesy buns, for tonight's supper!

laundry day

Laundry day used to be on Monday. All the women in the neighbourhood would get up early and start the process of boiling clothes and ribbing them on a washboard. Besides pride to have it hanging on the line outside before breakfast, there was always the regular work that needed doing.

Right now I do laundry almost everyday. Because my dryer is on the blink, I'm doing one load once a day, so everything has time to dry on the line in my basement.

It is not as much fun as hanging it out of doors, where the sun and wind catch the t-shirts, trying to take them up into the endless depth of the sky, to give them that indescribable smell that reminds me of the history of laundry day. But there is satisfaction in the action, clipping shirts and towels on the line to dry.
I also noticed that ironing is easier with air-dried clothes than when they come out of the dryer.

(A very mundane subject, laundry, but a very necessary job after Adam and Eve were sent away from Eden. Just imagine the extra time I will have in heaven, not having to do laundry! Or do our white robes need washing, too?
How much extra time do I need in eternity?
What would I do with extra time? Plant a few more shrubs in the garden?)

My first memories of laundry are of my mother boiling the whites on top of  a kerosene stove, which she only used for that purpose. It had this peculiar smell, both the kerosene and the boiling, soapy water. After washing the clothes in sudsy water, they went through the wringer. Then they had to be rinsed in cold water, and again, put through the wringer, before hanging it outside to dry. Drying sometimes took days, in our wet country of the Netherlands.
The day might start out nice, but then when the clouds rolled in: " Hurry, hurry, quick, get those almost-dry-clothes off the line!"

When they were nearly dry, it was easy to iron them, and almost everything got ironed. There were the button shirts for Sunday-go-to-meeting times. The  hankies, made from old cotton shirts, and the dish towels. I've heard of women ironing underwear, but my mother never went that far. Even our towels didn't get ironed, unless they were still slightly damp, then they needed to be ironed dry before they were put in the closet. She folded them length-wise in three sections, and then in three again. I just fold them end to end twice, and then in three. Easier, I think. Strange, that it even mattered then.

At four I started with ironing hankies, then progressed to tea-towels at age five. It never became a regular job though. Polyester, the new fabric on the market, did not need ironing, or boiling for that matter, and it dried a lot faster on the line, too. The wringer was replaced by a spinner, and polyester was almost dry when it came out.

Today I still iron cotton hankies and tea-towels. Plus table-cloths, especially after Christmas. It's mostly all flat stuff, so easy going, and very satisfying. There is an occasional shirt, though, that has not been replaced yet with a no-iron shirt.

Now I'm back to on-line-drying, and thankful for the washing machine. When dishcloths don't get clean I put them all in a big pot on top of the stove, and boil them with some washing soda: same peculiar smell, but also same cleanness!
And the memories...