Old Man Winter Needs to DIE

When that cold-hot-cold-snow-melt-ice-hot-cold-windy-slushy in between season called March in Michigan gives me a headache, I chug a cup of hot cocoa with marshmallows to quiet the fever.  With a blankie wrapped tightly, I keep warm, waiting for camping season.  Last year the fever hit when the sun came out and melted all the snow, exposing some green for the first time in forever. To top that off, I saw a skunk in the road and had to wonder if it meant six more weeks of anything?

Then I spied my first robin bursting with blue eggs, as she collected sticks and little pieces of this and that to pad her nest.   I’m deliriously dreaming about roasting hot dogs over a snapping flame –with a stick customized by my trusty “Swiss”.  My hibernating mind is starting to wake up with the crocuses and it drifts above my consciousness, letting in the smell of cowboy coffee percolating in my Grandpa’s dented pot as I listen to bacon sizzling in a heavy cast iron skillet.

There is nothing like the sound of kerosene gas flowing up into a Coleman lantern at night which, upon ignition, takes on a life light of its own–bathing us in soft yellow hues.  Every kind of insect is attracted to it’s nectar core. I can see my Dad striking the match and posting it on a nail, way up and off to the side.

Soon it will be time to go mushroom hunting and time to put all the lawn chairs in a circle around the fire and time to sing Three Dog Night’s Joy to the World and time to collect mint leaves to brew Grandma’s mint tea and time to gather drift wood in the bow of a row boat and and time to pick daisies and black-eyed susans and time to wear flip-flops and time to chop wood and time to catch a fish and time to discover new trails on hikes and time to see eagles soar and time to see deer in the woods and time to catch a lightning bug and time to skinny dip and time to tell ghost stories and time to drop blueberries into a tin cup and time to appreciate a full moon and time to dig up a can of worms and time to take a picture of a sunrise and time to grill and time to just be happy and time to open the graham crackers and time to fire up the ‘ol 1964 Johnson 20 and time to strip down into your skivvies and crawl into the sack….exhausted from not having enough time when it comes to camping!

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