Heaven

Only Picture is AI Story is by author

I open my eye’s, and it takes a few moments to realize I’m at Beaver Creek, and not in heaven. Lying here in my van listening to the water slap against the bank of the river, I close my eyes and listen to its gentle rhythm. I snuggled down into my blankets a little deeper, I think my get up and go forgot me. Starting to doze I glance over and see it’s a whopping 46 degrees, I reach out to the window, it feels colder to me. Pulling the curtain back I see the most beautiful sunrise, almost as if it was rising out of the river. I let the curtain fall back and snuggle in a little deeper. As I listen to the musical that the birds and river are producing, I hear some of the others stirring, a cough here, a bang there. Rubbing Dawg’s fur, I mumble, “Yeah, we should have parked at the end of the road”. Moaning. I reach over and turn on the buddy heater so I can get dressed for the day. The noise of the others kind of bites after the serenade I have been enjoying. I really shouldn’t complain since I came here to meet many I have only known through our online group. I look at my wrist to check the time, nothing but skin, Oh yeah, I put it in the glove box. I groan as I sit up, the little heater had been running about 10 minutes and it was already nice and toasty inside my little Chevy. As I pull a tub out from underneath the bed I do my morning check, turn the Buddy off, Voltage on battery at 12.4, oh Good the electric blanket didn’t run the battery down, it should be back up to full charge in a couple hours, Rae’s battery pack is at full charge, oh crud, I forgot to put coffee in the thermos last night. Sitting here in nothing but my bloomers I relax while savoring the fact I have nothing to do for an entire week. As I pull my clothes out of the tub I pick up Dawg to place him inside. I look at him for a moment and remember when I got him. Van Mom Karen gave him to me after I lost my Min-Pin. “I know you prefer to be on the dash where you can soak up the sunshine, but you and I both know that Mutt would tear you apart”. As I slide the tub back under the bed I look at the window. It’s as if the curtain isn’t there, I can see the mixture of vans, cars, tents, even a small school bus parked throughout the small field. The tarps hanging off the vehicles held up by limbs, metal pipe, or wooden poles to provide a shaded area for cooking and gathering. In the center is a rock fire ring for the community. As I hear the pop of a fire, well Dick’s up and going, I can almost smell the coffee. There is a scratching sound on the door, Well I had better get dressed that would-be Mutt after his morning Jerky and ear scratch. I finish getting dressed quickly and open the side door. Mutt climbs in and gives me three of four kisses and sits down while nudging my shirt pocket. I look past him and see 2-Knives Kate, my bestie. The smile and shining eyes will brighten anyone’s day, even Ol’ Scrooge himself. “Morning,” she says as she hands me a cup of coffee. I nod to her as I turn my eyes to Lester walking up to the van. “Group breakfast?” he asks. “You know where the stove and goodies are help yourself. About an hour?” He nodded, “Yeah, At Dick’s.” As I turned to ask Katie if she wanted to go for a walk with Mutt and me, I get knocked back onto the bed with two big paws in the middle of my chest. As she started laughing I looked into his eyes and ask him if he thinks I forgot. The only answer I got was a harder nuzzle on the pocket. The Scooby snacks I had slid out. He gently plucks them off my shirt, swallowing as he hops out. We watched as he started his morning visitations. Twice a year there is a gathering of people to share knowledge and renew friendships. It started in Tumbling Creek, Ga. about 8 years ago. Along the way, the spring gathering was moved to Beaver Creek reservoir in Al. mainly because weather. Some participants camp like this all year long. Someday I would like be a full time camper and travel around the country enjoying the natural beauty this country has to offer, like so many do.

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