Trinity Lake - Day 3 - Evening

 

 

 Firepit Rice Casserole (for 1)

1 tbls. olive oil
1 small onion
half a cup basmati rice
1 cup water
1 packet single serving soup
1 425 g. can mixed veggies
1 cup grated cheese

- dice onion and stir into olive oil
- add rice - stir
- add water and soup packet
-cover, bring to boil - place off heat for 20 mins.
-add veggies and cheese
-bake in covered pot in warm part of fire (away from direct flame) for 20 mins.


                                                           *


I get down to practicalities by getting a fire going, make tea, and start supper prep.
And, (not part of the practicalities), think of my afternoon of cedar pole foraging.
I'm not at all sure what the abundance of cedar poles is about, (apart from the four to be used as stretchers), or how I plan to use the rest.
I have three times what I need.
What I know is that the cedar poles are part of my conjured memories.
And this:
I need to construct something.

An hour later, having shifted from tea to wine, I stare out into the bay, my back against the largest pine tree on my site.
I have retrieved supper #3, chopped onion, added rice, water, soup packet, brought all to the boil, and am now letting it sit, on one of the surrounding rocks of the fireplace.
I am quite quite hungry, the frying onion making my mouth water, but the wine will keep me satisfied.
I have put on my Jersey, as it is cooling off now and beautifully clear. And earth and pine needles and bits of leaf from the dry forest floor, have gathered and stuck to my red wool socks as I step around the site in food preparation.

I am silently blissfully alone.
For this time, maybe the one time, I can really look at things in depth.
At my own pace. In my own way.
Art, that is.
And my past.

I am tucked in by dark, having stowed the cooking gear, and removing all food scraps. I reach for my spiritual readings, but, getting no farther than a page or two, I snuff the candle lantern, roll over and sleep.
Too tired to think any more.


                                                              *

The last supper of The Loop.
Having a generous camp kitchen, we had far more food than needed. We prepared all of the supper items left, leaving only 'Day 5 Breakfast' and Day 5 Lunch', as we would be home in camp by mid afternoon, with luck.
This consisted of Chicken Noodle soup, chilli, meatballs, bread and butter, carrots, hot chocolate, and chocolate chip cookies. 
We also had a squashed box of Cherrios, and as a popcorn substitute, fried them in butter, salted them, and snacked on them into the wee hours. 

I had shaken my gloom.
Not one of us could help but be in the best of humour. 
When we were finally ready for sleep, after hours of singing and stories and laughter, we lay on our backs in our sleeping bags, ringing the glowing embers of the campfire, and stared up into the night sky.
It was clear and dark, the stars at their best.
I remember Ginny pointing out the Milky Way, Cassiopeia, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor, Corona Borealis, Polaris, Andromeda - in my memory, all of them, but perhaps I'm blending memories from over the years.
But this is clear:  

The talk turned to how, in all of that vastness, one person could make a difference.
Could do something good.
Something that mattered.

We set off in the morning in good spirits. 
Funnily, I remember little of our return, (or even much about that last week of camp), except that we arrived back during the afternoon free swim, the waterfront crowded with campers and staff.
Perhaps, marking the end of 'The Loop', arriving back in camp was a disappointment of sorts, and therefore excluded from my memory.
No one in camp seemed to understand that we were different, that we had changed. 
For me, it was a bittersweet moment.

I blended, I'm sure, back into my cabin group, separated to some extent from those who were my entire life for five days. But like people who cling to each other through a crisis, the nine of us had that extra perception, that tie, that memory of  'The Loop of 1966', 

forever.