This past weekend we loaded up the motorhome and headed south. Unfortunately Morgan was not able to come along...something I'm trying to get used to. She's 17, a senior in high school and has her own activities she wants to attend.
We, of course, took our puppy (Sidney) with us...our house would not have survived her being alone that long. As we were headed out of town I could feel the weight of the daily rat race lift from my shoulders. We were blessed with beautiful weather. As many of you know...I am a girl from another time...an older time. While I enjoy the internet, cars and electric...I also enjoy cooking in a cast iron skillets over an open fire, walking in the woods drinking in God's magnificent artwork and listening to sound of crickets and bull frogs float in on the cool crisp evening air.
We camped at a campground designed for horse trail riding. There were a couple of pounds for fishing, numerous marked trails for walking (or riding) and serenity all around. For me sitting by the campfire and hearing the clippity clop of the horse's shoes hitting the roadway...well that's just a little piece of heaven.
Jon wanted to "explore". So he loaded his new fanny pack with all of the essentials...an apple, a pepsi, his knife and his whistle. He grabbed his fishing pole, strapped Beary in and off "they" went. Frank and I followed about 15 minutes later...when we got to the pond...no Jon. We decided to head along the blue trail (that's the one that runs between the 2 ponds) to catch up with our boy. When the blue trail came to a gravel road we agreed Jon wouldn't have crossed the road so we turned back...figuring he was probably sitting at camp wondering where we were. As we approaced a fork in the road (aka the white trail splits from the blue trail) we decided to take the white trail...it was in the direction I had thought I heard Jon's whistle earlier. Well let me tell you...the white trail is LONG. An hour later when we arrived back at camp we saw evidence that Jon had been back...his fishing pole and Beary were left behind. So we decided to sit tight and wait for him to show back up. Let me tell ya...every minute felt like 10. Finally my cell phone said I had a voice message...not enough signal for it to actually ring. Jon had left a message he ended up at the shooting range (he had crossed the road) and was headed back. I being the worrier lept up and started running toward the shooting range. This is not a straight shot people...this is back up the blue trail...yes I said UP. A twisting, turning gravel trail. Thought I was going to have a heart attack half way up...heart pounding in my ears, sweat rolling (gotta get back to the gym!) But I kept going. I got to the gravel road and thought I heard voices. I called Jon's name...nothing. Decided to walk toward the voices and (to my delight) around the corner comes a pair of horses with my son on the back of one of them. These wonderful people were camped at the same campground and heard Jon blowing his whistle. They followed the sound and rescued my dear son..who confessed he was starting to accept the fact he would have to spend the night in the woods...by the way it was around 5pm.
After all the excitement and exercise we had worked up an appetite. So we threw a steak in the skillet, some corn on the grate and rounded off our meal with some home canned beats and some mennonite rolls. That was the best meal I had had in years. And of course for dessert....toasted marshmallows! Frank did the shopping for our trip and decided to treat us with not only regular marshmallows, but strawberry ones too. They were delicious.
The next day we scouted out around their hunting grounds (a bit farther south) before returning for lunch. We knew it was time to start packing up, but Jon wanted to fish one more time. He caught this beautiful large mouth bass (Dad hooked this one the day before but failed to bring it to shore). So much to our dismay...we had to head home. It was so peaceful and beautiful down there. I can't wait to go back!!!