For the last several weeks, my wife and I have been going through the throes of closing our humble spot on the St. Lawrence River. I often write about the trials and tribulations we face there, but when all is said and done – if it isn’t obvious – we treasure our time on the river. We wouldn’t trade it for all the tea in China. (Besides, the tariffs are probably going to make it cost-prohibitive. I don’t really know. Just a stab at humor.)
Kathie and I each have our own chores to lock/seal/and close the “Labor Camp” for the winter months. We’ve become accustomed to our specific responsibilities over the years.
She goes through the intense job of cleaning — to a spic-and-span level — the inside of the cottage. When she’s done, it would easily pass the white glove test … even if you could reach a hand under the refrigerator. “Hey, I found a Raisinet. I think that’s what it is. Tastes like it.”
She stores blankets, sheets and pillows inside plastic bins, taking no chance that a speck of winter-dust can settle in. And because she has so much to do, I feel guilty. Slipping a plastic cover over the Lazy-Boy while I’m still sitting in it will make one feel that way. (Well-named chair, by the way.)
I take care of the stuff outside. Stuff like the water-pump, hot-water heater and all the other ginkuses (or is it ‘ginkii’?) that need winterizing. I also bring the aluminum docks in so that Mother Nature doesn’t turn them into pieces of modern art. “Henry, look, it’s a 3-D Picasso.” (It’s called “What’s up, dock?” — Or maybe “Pier Pressure” …?) That’s hilarious. Whatever …
So needless to say, I’ve been too busy to submit a column to the newspaper the last couple of weeks. Oddly, I got an email the other day, saying “Great contribution to the newspaper last week.”
I wrote back saying, I’ve not had any articles in for quite a while. He replied… “Yeah, I know.” (Suspiciously, I think it was from my editor.)
It’s always sad when we have to close up the camp. Not only the hard work but the emotional thought of another summer coming to an end. It’s like finishing a good book. There’s a void, no more chapters to look forward to. (“Never end a sentence with a preposition,” — so said my high-school English teacher, Mrs. Morgan. “But, Mrs. Morgan, what do I end it with?” Good catch if you noticed.) Back to the intriguing topic …
There was so much we wanted to do while we’re at the river that didn’t get done. The natural speed bumps that time surprises you with prevented us from doing a lot. (Apologies to my great friend, Bob, for not getting together to golf, fish, rob banks, and talk loud in the library.) But …
As the old joke goes … “Want to know how to make God laugh? Tell him your plans.” That isn’t just a hollow chuckle; it’s a simple fact of life. Kathie and I are not unique because we know that everyone has had the same experiences. A wrench thrown in the works is as common as a politician bragging that his party is “a well-oiled machine” just because he’s willing to have people grease his palms. See what I did there? “Want to buy a prison pardon?” (Not funny? I couldn’t agree more.)
I’m done with fishing for the year, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. Fall time is a good time for sports. The World Series is just around the corner. And, of course, it’s football season. College games on Saturdays and my Bills on Sundays.
There’s also high school sports. My son, Eric, coaches the local high-school football team. And my daughter, Melissa, coaches field hockey. (She coaches track, as well.) I’ve got to say …
Their commitment to athletes goes beyond the playing field. Coaches get to know the real person wearing the uniform. A young person’s work ethic, passion and fair play are quite indicative of how they will turn out later in life. And the bond created between a coach and their players can last well into those students’ adulthood.
I mention that because when I’m at camp, I golf on Fridays with my brothers, Tim and Mike. They both coached high school football. I’ve witnessed people walk up and greet them (my brothers) with a huge grin, call them “Coach,” and give them a big hug. They are people Mike and Tim coached over 50 years ago. It’s amazing the impression a coach and/or teacher can have on people. I digress, anyhow …
Like I said, I’ve put my fishing poles away for the year, but there’s still golf to play. Fishing and golf have something in common, ya know!?. The only time a golfer or fisherman tells you the truth … is when he says he’s a liar. (Another stab at humor.)
Anyhow, with a nod of thanks to my good friend, Mike, for his help getting my boat and dock out of harm’s way ….
That’s the way it looks from the Valley.