Solstice at Sycamore

Sunday, June 21, 2009  Solstice

(Road to Nowhere; Sycamore campsite)

The cool, moist air fled, replaced by oven-hot air from the west. Yesterday, the temperature hit 102 degrees. The heat finally drove me to the pool, along with the other hardy souls who stayed on. It was my first visit to the pool. A quick dip in the sun-heated water was refreshing; the side show of nearly naked campers cavorting in the water, strutting pool-side, was . . . (word search) memorable. I won’t recount the specifics, except to say the experience brought forth images of whales lolling playfully in the water prior to mating. 

My neighbor, Linda, sat down next to me, joined by her daughter, her husband and their 3 year-old son, Tyler, a wiry little tike. We watched as mom and dad heaved Tyler into the water. Tyler screamed in protest and came bounding out, mom and dad in hot pursuit. Dad grabbed him by the arm and hoisted the little fellow back to the pool. After more screams of protest, they gave up. Linda turned to me, needing to explain. “He’s autistic,” she said. “There ain’t much that pleases him.” 

Linda and her daughter discussed what to do with the boy while Tyler screamed. Suddenly, he reared up and head-banged his mother so hard that the impact nearly knocked her cold. The daughter wanted to leave, but Linda persevered, insisting that the couple stay for the evening barbecue. All evening, I could hear Tyler’s shrieks until, at last, they went on home to Ft. Bragg. Raising a kid like that would be tough. 

This afternoon, Linda and her live-in, Ronnie, (a nice fellow with the biggest belly I’ve ever seen) came over to say ‘good-bye’ before setting off. Before leaving, Ronnie brought me up to date on diesel engines. He said a Cummins diesel was the best. Ronnie was born in Wyoming, raised in North Carolina. He’d like to go back, he likes cold weather, but he reckons he’ll stay in North Carolina. “Got too much going on here.” 

Linda said they enjoyed sitting out evenings, listening to me fiddle. “You play real purrdy,” she said. “You play in an orchestra or something?”