I see your soggy box wine and raise you a four-pack of little bottles of Chardonnay from Walgreen’s. It occurred to me after I posted photos on Facebook of unloading our sodden camping gear at a dog park in order to wring it out and repack it that the world would see our pitiful box of red wine which, yes, we drank out of coffee cups the night before. We stopped carrying a full bar on camping trips when a squirrel got into the olives and made off with our cocktail shaker.
After the deluge that was our first night camping and the subsequent escape in our long underwear from the intense wetness that is Missouri, we stayed in a cheap hotel in Iowa City where the dogs’ stay cost as much as ours but the pillows were plentiful and clean. There is nothing to say about this except that of all the things I would dread about being without shelter, being wet is first. Remembering that my being outside was a choice doesn’t lessen the lesson. I know the feeling and know I always have a credit car in my wallet.
I can’t talk about what’s going on with the Supreme Court. Years ago, in the most forthright way possible, I conveyed my deepest feelings about the “issue.” I can’t say anymore. I’m not even sure I can show up at a demonstration or carry a sign or write another letter. I will because I have to, but I can’t ever tell my story again. I told it and it didn’t matter.
This morning I watched three pairs of geese, a dozen goslings, and an soaring bald eagle while I sat at a picnic table and drank coffee perked on our Coleman stove. Last night, to redeem ourselves and to remember that camping is wonderful, we set up our tent on a small peninsula jutting out in a lovely lake. This morning, the contemplation of getting up took me a full hour. The inside of the tent was wet with condensation and the top of my head, the only part not buried in my sleeping bag was cold to the touch. I have no pictures of this remarkable coffee time because my phone was dead.
We drove down the main street through Prairie du Chien and made a U-turn when we smelled the burgers at Pete’s. Burgers, big thick ones, with or without onions, on perfect hard rolls, wrapped in wax paper. Pete’s has been selling burgers like this since 1909. We got ours, sat on a bench down the block a bit and ate every last bite. They were spectacular burgers – thick and buttery. All I can say is this – if we’d been on the freeway, we’d still be ignorant of Pete’s.