March 31—the gypsy Fisherman decided it was time to flung open the gypsy caravan and go explore the world again.

“Oh, but it still is so cold for camping!” “But how could you possibly be cold?” “No, it is not possible.” “But I am!”.  And thus, we went to the dunes and camped there for a day and a half and two nights. And it was indeed cold and windy, but it was also so very glorious, and lovely, and the sun shone strong, as strong as chilly winds blew sands in the distance, and I watched the sun come over the sandbanks as half a dozen robins slept in nearby leafless bony trees, and with the kiss of dawn, the wee cries of baby coyotes in the hirsute sagebrush of the high desert...

We sipped heaps of vanilla caramel lattes from the comfort of our gypsy caravan and munched on grapes, corn chip and creamy cheese sauce.  The Fisherman surprised me by packing my softest, warmest pjs ever, and an extra-large extra fluffy extra warm blanket in my favorite color, and it felt like a soft, warm sheep on my skin, and he made sure that the heater was on all night and that my feet were warm, and I loved it all, and thank him, as usual, for compelling me to come out of my cave and do things to which I would always say ‘no’ to in the beginning, and always end up loving later… Because, that’s just the way I am.  And he knows me. 

There was a huge birdhouse on the tree just above by where our gypsy caravan slept, and I prayed for an owl to visit, because this is their habitat and all mated pairs are permanent residents of their territory, and one such pair calls these dunes home.  But I never saw one.

We rode our bicycles on sandy desert paths, the Fisherman put on his waddling fishing boots and went out to the marshes while I collected rocks, we cooked a meal or two, ate pineapple, rice pudding and lentil soup. The downing sun was a fire ball outside the gypsy caravan on the West—big and bright and dying gold at 7:30pm.  We read our books until daylight turned into evening, and the voices of the desert muffled out into the hunting songs of night, we said our prayers and reflected on Jesus dying on the cross—oh holy moment that holy Friday, eternities ago.

   

On Saturday night all winds got loose.  The wilderness shrieked under its ferocity, things were tossed around, sand swirled and dance frenetically and our gypsy caravan felt like a kite in the wind, being pushed from side to side by strong winds as our roofs creaked and doors were slammed.  It was a frightful little night, until everything calmed down, and only the sound of our heater going on and off remained... and we drifted off to sleep on the wings of desert nights...

The following morning, Sunday of Resurrection, the world woke up wrapped in glorious sunshine and quiet serenity… as if the new morning itself was reminding us that within every ending is the seed of a new beginning…

I love Nature and the quietness I find in its great emptiness.  To it I go when I want to find my soul... we are the ones with the messy hair, the dirty feet and the wild sparkle in our eyes…

Camping in the heat of August - part I

One or two summers ago, back in 2016 while living at the little white cottage, the gypsies went camping again... I forgot to document their journey, and while reading some of my old notes this afternoon decided to post this special journey, and then one more.  So alas, here it is:  And it goes like this:

Unless you are a gypsy at heart or more accurately, a pseudo-gypsy who loves Nature up to the point of fainting, then if you live in the south, don't ever never ever go camping in the summer... k?  Just saying ;)  

When we moved south two years ago we had this idealized idea that camping here was just like camping up north, where we had done it all of our lives and where summers are the best time of year for such endeavors.  We were so used to that, that we didn't realize how things can change in a different atmosphere.  But after that first camping experience in the heat of August two years ago (you can read all about it HERE, if you'd like), we soon learned that things are very much different in the south, and swore never ever to go camping again in the summer... that's, until this weekend. Hehe!

You see, someone had told my husband the Fisherman of this magical gypsy camp place where fishes abound and practically wait placidly by the riverbanks to be caught.  And thus... you just know how it goes... he made reservations without telling me. And of course, I didn't want to spoil his enthusiasm. So I went along, and not even once said anything about our old promise... of summer, and of the relentless summer days in the south, or of being a gypsy at the wrong time of the year, and such...  

It was a beautiful place indeed.  Heat and humidity steamed out of the earth like lava coming out of some strange volcano.  Fishes didn't want to bite, and the camp was quiet and swarming with ants and then some more... 

The surroundings were fantastic... and as beautiful as a painting in soft aquarelle

Around mid-day we cooked our lunch, and later ate it in a groggily state... the fisherman washed the dishes and I dried them up.  We took our books out and read.  We drank sparkling coconut-pineapple Ice, we ate watermelon and kept perspiring some more. We watched the clouds for strange, wild animals and mythological creatures doing whatever they do high above past the tall pines, and went in and out the gypsy caravan like some crepuscular squirrels, getting from tree to tree from tree to the ground... waiting for heat and humidity to subside a bit. 

The gypsy caravan was a cocoon in cheerful colors, veils and velvet.

Baby you got what I need... you got my sunshine.  

Baby you... you got what I need baby you...

and when I'm with you, it is a beautiful world.

It's all I can dream... baby you... you got what I need...
Have you heard that song?

I could have gone swimming, but when the Fisherman went down to the river, I started down the green paths on a nature's hunt all by myself. 'Cause that's just who I am. And thus, I collected some lovely treasures... pinecones and needles, an interesting moss covered twisted twig, and some pebbles and stones that all went to live in my garden.  A bird's feather was found buried among the wildflowers... from which it may have come from among the many?  I had to wonder.  

By that time, my head was already spinning under the heat of the day... spinning spinning... that's when I discovered an ogre encrusted on a tree, and further down some witch's cottage among old tangled roots.  Hello, is anyone there?

It was such a magical day... things did really got better after that... it did, it really did!  But I'll have to stop right here for now, cause my story can linger, and I'm sure you'd not want to read past here... so yeah, I'll come back real soon with a 'second season' of Camping in the heat of August.  How 'bout that! ;)  For now, that's it.  Hope you had fun reading.  And stay tune for more!


PS:  next story in our following post - continuation