A little rain can do amazing things. For us, the sound of many large drops of water landing on the trailer roof in the dark, not long after we intended to fall asleep, louder than I would have expected, lent a little mystery. Later, while looking out the door, with the outside light fired up for the dogs’ benefit, I watched a heavy shower of raindrops falling straight down. The dogs went under the trailer, a dry and comfortable location, to take care of certain necessities. Another benefit to the new generation of smaller dogs.
The drops I saw falling weren’t all that large, and couldn’t and didn’t make all that rattle on the roof. But we were sited under a large deciduous tree, and the rain landed upon the top leaves of the tree, and the gentle wind waggled the branches and sent drops of rainwater down through the foliage, running along lower leaves, and the drops grew in size as they joined with their friends on the way down, and thus large water drops fell upon our trailer at intervals throughout the night.
We were both awake at some point past midnight, and the rain had ceased, and there was this subtle white noise, a hiss kinda sound that was the only audible impulse in an otherwise totally silent campground. And we remarked that this was a very comfortable campground, and it was actively sucking the bad out of our brains. The river just over there had a few riffles, and they donated the hiss that soothed our souls. And a little rain was responsible for the river that night.
A little rain earlier in the winter had nicely fed the forest floor in which the campground nestled, and some power had introduced a bunch of different greens for our enjoyment. Ferns, clover shaped things, and weird prehistoric looking odd plants, and some really large leafed things made the palate of color we enjoyed all day. Second growth redwoods and large distorted multitrunked deciduous trees provided the canopy.
On Saturday a stroll along the path that followed the river through the trees, down toward the sea, seemed a thing to do. I set out alone, binocs in hand and the I’m not working hat upon my head, and the well abused fisherman sweater aboard, and old boots in place to traverse the mud. The narrow path wound along, a puddle here, and the nettles all around, and you don’t want to go there. I stopped to watch a harrier perched on a power pole, and footsteps caught up to me. A young woman padded past without comment. The harrier took flight, and disappeared across the river.
I was walking slowly, absorbed in the place and time, and I crossed the bridge over an ambitious little stream. The little flowers on the vines were worth a stop and wonder. The trail split, and the sign said go this way, and I did. Just ahead the path would pass under the highway bridge, and I noted right away that the whole thing was under water. Not gonna make it that-a-way. But at the edge of the flooded stretch was the young woman, and she was bent over at the waist and looking weird. So I wandered along the trail until I reached her.
She was crying, snot dangling from her nose and tears spilling down her face, and she was desolate and clearly lost inside standing on the trail. None of my business, but again maybe it was. You’re not having a good day. No. You came up here to get away, right? Yeah. I know the feeling. Ya know, after you’ve been around a few times, you will realize that these bad times happen. I’m just gonna say this and leave you be, but there are better times ahead. Been there, got the t-shirt, ya know. Take good care of yourself. And I let her be.
We were there to let the forest and the river and the sea massage our souls, and if it can work for us, maybe it would work for her, whatever nasty was eating away at her. Maybe a little rain would help too.
More rain arrived on Sunday morning to try. We listened in the light this time. Sun broke through just in time for me to hook up the trailer and truck, and shortly after noon we headed back down Hwy 1. That last rain had cleansed the air, and the view across the ocean to the horizon was razor sharp. The deer came out to feed, just in time for us to watch. And so did the turkeys. Apparently most of the humans had stayed home, for the road was ours for loiter.
Back at work today, I made time to fire up the computer and reserve the same campsite for a weekend next month. Gualala Point Regional Park. We like this one.
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