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

Camping in the heat of August - part II

That afternoon when the Fisherman came back to our camp after a first fishing trip, he wanted to take me to some magical fishing place he had discovered... so I went along.   

We parked our car down by the river and got out.  The heat must had done something to my body and mind because I remember moving like in a slow motion, silent film... plop plop plop plop... no synchronized recorded sound whatsoever.  Nature transmitted her sounds through muted gestures. 

It was a beautiful place with the banks of the river  covered up in giant elephant ear plants and quiet waters where the sunlight played atop the tranquil waters making little sparkly bubbles.  You could see the water turtles basking everywhere under the endless blue sky.  I was entranced.  But when I looked around, I couldn't find the Fisherman anywhere.  I stood on a rock and looked around and beyond, then decided to start down the path to see if I could find him further down...

What I found instead was the creepiest thing ever... the lonesome ruins of some old abandoned building covered in a tangled thickets of hawthorn and bramble.  Oh I was certain I was seeing the ghost of a woman in white walking amidst the emptied ruins, and there, over there on a lapidated old window a woman and her child looking out.  I was so petrified I started running towards the opposite direction, away from the place...  not a single living soul was to be seen anywhere around...

Luckily, I finally found the Fisherman down at the banks, hidden by long grasses... the water looked like a polished mirror where the sky reflected and gave out the impression of a bottomless river, and you didn't know if you were really looking into the water or at an unfathomably deep and infinite sky... it was truly magical.

When we came back to our gypsy caravan after a few hours of fishing and enjoying nature, we found out that some type of animal, or rodent of some kind had made a huge hole on the plastic lid of the container where we keep our food and had ripped open the bag of bread, side to side.  Flies where inside the bag, and the cooler was swarming with ants.  We had never seen anything like that in all of the gypsy camping years of our lives... not even in all the bear habitat places we've camped.   

  

Our gypsy caravan felt so cozy and warm and I just love it there... I will spare you details of my dreams that night where ants crawled into bed with us, and I felt them biting little bites on the back of my neck... was it really a dream?  All throughout the night it was like that, until the Fisherman changed places with me, and I finally fell asleep immediately.

  

It was a magical morning the following morning.  After breakfast, the Fisherman took me to another lovely place he had discovered earlier that morning and I can only tell you that all and every little trouble were worthwhile right there and then...  because it was such a magical, beautiful glorious place, and all our headaches were forgotten, and the morning brimmed in its light and breezes coming from the waterfalls...

All in all, it was a beautiful trip and a truly lovely place.  And isn't it life composed of beautiful and not so beautiful moments too!  The 'not so beautiful moments' are those you will look back later and have to smile, it may be a bittersweet smile, but those moments are written in the pages of our souls in magical golden ink, and whenever we open up that book and read through we're reaffirmed  

We want to come back again in the late fall or maybe early winter.  It will be like our summer camping time up north