It had been raining so much for the past two weeks around here, that the gypsies already knew they were predestined to be guided by rain… and thus, raindrops followed them through hills and valleys, all the way to their campsite… they had made peace with the thought.  Rain washes off the land of impurities and makes the soul of man clean as rushing rivers.  So even if the outcome was to be rained on, they still packed everything up and went along… 

 

They parked their gypsy trailer among the tall pines and vegetations of pine, fir, spruce, hemlock, larch, cedars and conifers... and down below; running through the earth like a live gash, the river in all its glory.  Unstoppable waters rushing down unseen pathways without ever stopping… to where?  

 

 

  

It was a smaller campsite this time, with fewer people and wholly immerse in Nature and the silence which is only broken by rain and the music rivers bestow.  They immediately made acquaintance with nearby fellow campers and gypsies from other tribes and different paths of life with whom they happened to be sharing the same time and the same space under the same sky… and then went to prepare their lunch…

 

 

The day was already cold and behind dark clouds you could already see a storm brewing, but lunch was good, and watermelon for dessert the best.  Then, the Fisherman went down the river edge to engage in this revelry of fishes and rushing waters and hours spent just doing that…  

 

 

Our new gypsy friends Lilac and her husband Dru came down too, they fished and talked while I played with their cute little Maltese, Marla… 

 

 

Fishes were nowhere to be seen and soon big drops started falling, making me to rushed back to our gypsy trailer and hide in my cozy nest…

 

 

I made coffee, got my books and my computer out and started this conversation with you…

  

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9:59 pm: Darkness embracing the rain-laden land in soft stillness; like the sounds of lovers in love.  Outside our window is pitch dark no voice is herd no children at play, it is cold and for some reason, we are sitting inside our cozy nest evoking gone by eras, remembering the Lawrence Welch show, the pretty girls in long dresses and handsome young men, the voices the songs and dances of yesterday.  Ah, how time flies and how swift life is. 

Inside the gypsy trailer it is dark, all lights are out, with only the exception of the soft glow of our computer screens… like fireflies in the night, illuminating the darkness.

 

 

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Morning. For some strange reason, I woke up feeling heavy and ill-humored. What happened later, I cannot explain in exact details, nor can I either explain whatever got into me to have reacted the way I did.  It could had very well been the Fisherman snapping veils off the walls and ceilings that previous night as he turned and tossed in bed.  Or it could had been this and that; or maybe the fact that, again, one of his legs got caught on another veil that morning as he was reaching up to grab something from the shelves above the bed... and boom! The entire hangings that served as curtains or entrance to our little niche came down... lol

I don’t know. I cannot explain in exact details how my brain works, or why sometimes it snaps the way it does, casting me under this dark cloud of self-destruction. Oh it would had been so easy to put everything back up into place right there and then; so easy to straighten things up and continued on enjoying our sweet gypsy space, but instead, all of a sudden, I found myself yanking off every pretty veil and every pretty drape and shawl off ceilings and wall therein.  Push-pins and thumbnails flying everywhere, until everything came to rest on the floor in a sad amalgamation of colors and textures.  

The Fisherman was speechless and felt so bad. We both felt so bad. I knew I was only hurting myself when doing what I was doing, and yet something inside me kept on pushing me onto causing me pain… the time I’d taken to build this little space of ours, the hard work, the joy, the coziness… I was only stripping off my heart of its joy, hurting myself and aiming at making my heart feel so sad by doing what I was doing. I am broken I know. And yet I still like to think that even so, God is nevertheless willing to use me and that his love is so absolute, that He can still love someone like me. I am so blessed to have in my life this gentle human being I called the Fisherman, for his continual love towards me, in spite of me.

After breakfast, we got on our car and when to explore our surroundings and check the little mountain city nearest our campground.  We found a quaint little church where we praised God on his sacred day, met some wonderful people and later joined them at their potluck.  Good healthy food, good people, hearts mended, the little joys restored.  

In the evening, the Fisherman made pizza for dinner... it turned out wonderful!

 

  

Our gypsy caravan is now looking as ordinary and as unpretentious as when it first came to us. Nothing fancy nothing gypsy nothing me... but I guess, as comfortable and undemanding as it should always had been.    For now!

Their gypsy camp, may not be as beautiful and perfumed as their last one was. It neither is as secluded, and you won’t find that many trees either. But the gypsy couple is not complaining. They are stationed just by the water; right above the big rocks and right by where an impressive dam let its waters flow down their channels in a clash of thunder—its liquid music serenating them all day long; calming their spirits and making them feel as in a sleepy haze, while the songs of birds follow them everywhere…

Because neighboring campsites are a bit closer to each other than what the gypsy girl would had preferred, she decided to make their space a little bit more private by hanging an assortment of fabrics around their tent. This not only provided instant privacy, but it also detracted them from the sun and the wind and it made everything looked much prettier! What would the gypsy girl do without her mandalas and veils, one must have to wonder!

They set their chairs and little table right by the edge of the cliff, and immediately went to prepare their lunch, for they were already famished with hunger. This time the gypsy girl made garbanzo soup with veggie meat and rice and the Fisherman went on preparing his favorite grilled chicken...

Then the gypsy girl got busy washing the dishes while her Fisherman went down to the river to do his favorite thing...

After the gypsy girl had finished washing the dishes, she went to sit down by the edge of the river to watch her Fisherman fish, hoping he would not caught one of those awful things-carps that were seen everywhere rising up their massive heads about the water. Huge fishes over 30lb coming clean out of the water…

The gypsy girl had never seen such a display of the unusual while at camping and she couldn’t stop screaming in awe, impressed as she was by the spectacular splashes that those leaping carps could make… It was sorts of like watching a horror movie.  She pondered and wondered if perhaps by night the Loch Ness Monster, Nessie, would too appeared on the calmed waters and she’d get to see it stretching up its long neck as it glided along the murky waters under a bright moon. 

She read and played with her camera and she talked to God, and followed the routs of the yellow-bellied birds that were constantly chasing each other from tree to tree...  

 

While the Fisherman was fishing down there, a neighboring camper approached to say hello, and he told the gypsy girl how the ancient sturgeons in this river can weight around 80 to 200 pounds and how when it is windy such as on the previous nights, you can see a ball of wind formed of dust heading towards the campsite, swirling and singing above the waters.  His stories were amazing and totally true.

Inside the gypsy caravan it felt toasty and cozy with sunshine slithering through veil covered windows. She loves it here so much she might never want to leave!

At 7:55 pm a mellowed golden sun stretched atop the water creating glowing floating stars that dazzled and glimmered and made the water sparkle with magic. The muffled sound of voices coming from people fishing at the opposite side of the river came in an incomprehensible hush; distorted and unnatural, and I had the oddest of feeling that it must had been the sturgeons talking among themselves as they splashed with a heavy thud and raised their brown head atop the star-illuminated water.

The soft light that minutes before permeated the gypsy boudoir grew dim and the room turned dark and the voices coming from outside quieted down.

They had their supper, fished some more, walked around the camp to see what others were up to and then called it a day...  and now the gypsy girl must stop here; otherwise she would keep writing until all lights are out and her computer run out of batteries. Tomorrow will be another day. Another sun another thought another moment to be lived and let live… another day to reminiscent about, and enjoy it and to be happy with what you have and what it has been gifted to you...

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Early morning came with the songs of birds—so many! It was chilly all throughout the night and I felt cold even in my dreams. The Fisherman was in charge of breakfast, while the gypsy girl remained in the coziness of their gypsy caravan with her books and a cup of coffee, waiting for the sun to warm up the earth.

Slowly, but surely, people started coming out of their campers, tents and trailers and as the sun rose up, the river banks got crowded; expectancy warming up every heart. This is truly a serious fishing place; a fisherman’s paradise if you may… people come here to fish all day and night long…

Late last evening someone on the other side of the camp got a mammoth of a sturgeon; a black massive head shaped like that of a dolphin and for some strange reason everyone here seems to be in a happy mood, we mingle and talk to each other and ask questions about each other’s little fishing triumphs.

Right beside our gypsy trailer, five women in an interesting diversity of ages are camping next to us. They came in a huge trailer yesterday afternoon all by themselves, and I enjoy hearing them talk and laugh with no apparent need whatsoever for their man. Deep inside me, I kind of envy them; their objectivity and detachment of what to me, it is simply sacred is admirable… would I ever attain such liberty of the soul, I have to wonder.

I’m so attached to this man I called the “Fisherman” that I can’t even begin to imagine myself being wholly happy apart from him. They are loud and quite the rambunctious lot these women are, and they make me feel contented just by looking at them enjoying their lives in such freedom. This very moment they are all sitting outside, passing among themselves some type of a sparkling red juice in a crystal jar—a magical potion I’m sure it must be, because they are overexcited, talking way too loudly and laughing way too much. I have to wonder, though, if this is genuine happiness.

This afternoon we saw a man fishing with a bow and arrow. I had never seen anything like that, and felt such excitement watching him getting one of those humongous carps which are constantly jumping up to the surface, that his dad, an especially nice gentleman standing by me, asked him if he could pose for me…

This man later told me that these fishes smell so bad and are so disgusting that nobody wants to eat them, so once caught, they are left on the rocks or by the edge of the river. And did you see the wild cats last night? He then said out of the blue. What? Cats! Where, here? I couldn’t believe it! And why hadn’t I seen them?

He told me that they would usually come out late in the evening to feed from the carcasses of fishes left behind. They are many, and they live among the rocks… oh I don’t think I could sleep at all tonight if I don’t happen to see these cats before we go to bed! Please pretty please Lord, would you not bring them kitties to me tonight!

10:02 pm—what a peculiar sort those  women camping alongside our gypsy trailer are; how can anyone be so remarkably overexcited at all time of day? And raucous too, I should say… still talking and laughing so loud at this hour, that even inside their trailer you can hear them alborotando the night away… 

We’re taking things down early tomorrow morning, it is Mother’s Day and we’re planning on spending the afternoon with the girls. Not a single day of my life would go by without me thinking of mom. Something always would remind me of her; no night will go by that I won’t see her in my dreams. I am always frantically looking for her in my dreams. She’s lost and I cannot find her, then I wake up to the perplexing realization that it wasn’t just a bad dream. I’ve truly lost her, it is definitively, and I will never find her again. The only difference from my dreams is, I know exactly where to find her. I so immeasurably miss her.

Ps: I did see the cats that night! Three dark figures against the dimmed sky; eyes glowing in the night like magical fireflies.