At the End of a Long Dark Road There were Falling Leaves

Yesterday, I woke up in our camping van and pushed aside the window shade. Outside, the sun was rising and there was a gentle wind blowing. Every minute or so, a solitary red maple leaf would be let go by its tree and fall to the earth. The fall would be fanciful, graceful, the leaf sometimes lifted up by a small gust of wind and then sent again on its way to the ground.

I laid still, my husband and two dogs still sleeping. I folded my hands on chest as if to hold my breath or my heart. And I thought, when I am dying, I will remember these red leaves falling. If it is all I remember about my life, it would be enough. I don’t know why. I just know it to be true.

The night before, we had come down a very long and dark road in search of the campground. The signs pointing the way to various parts of the state park were small and low to the ground and so I had to get out of the van to read them. When we turned off the paved road to a dirt one, it seemed to get darker. It was some solace that we could pull over anywhere, turn off the engine, cook dinner, and go to sleep. The van generates its own energy, and we know how to make do with bushes.

“If there’s no one at the campground, do you still want to stay?” We laughed about this, about how dark it was, and whether they’d ever find our bodies if, you know, the worst happened. But there were people at the campground, not many, a few campers, and, amazingly, we found the lonely pit toilet and parked our van within easy walking distance.

We made Hungarian sausages for dinner and drank white wine out of plastic coffee cups. We walked the dogs in the moonless night, shuffling through what felt like two feet of giant fallen leaves. We were in Illinois, the Land of Leaves, my husband wisecracked. And then we all packed in, two dogs and two people, total darkness, quiet, except for the rustling leaves.

Camping makes everything harder. The tiny refrigerator can only handle food that is very flat. The can opener is always missing. There is only one pot and one burner on the stove. The dogs take up all the floor space. It is impossible not to bump your head on the ceiling at least ten times a day. Still, it is perfect because in the morning when the sun is just rising, the maple leaves will fall to the ground in ways so beautiful you will never forget them.