Camping days that should not have been

I call these latest camping days my “miracle days.” They shouldn't have happened — eleven nights in peak summer in a prime beach site in a popular nearby campground — already booked by someone else. I remember exactly how they transferred to me.

A friend was fighting her way through Covid last January. I'd messaged her supportive words. Since I was on my phone I decided to check the camping reservation site. Up popped an entire row of available nights. At a six month advance booking this meant they were open in July.

I couldn't believe it. I moved like lightning and nabbed them. They didn't go through. Too good to be true.

But they still showed available so I tried again. Voila!

Possibly someone was just returning them, and the transaction had not quite completed. I'll probably never know. What I do know is back in January in an attempt to lift someone's spirit — and by making a second run, and not giving up after the first one, I am now in “camping heaven.”

I like to look for wisdom in the little subtle things. What can I understand from them?

“You reap what you sow” has become a common catch phrase — nothing new, it's something Jesus said. Wanting to cheer a friend put me on my phone at 7:00 on a chill dark winter morning — when summer seemed impossible. I didn't think of it as “sowing” at the time — and yet six months later I'm settled in for the evening in our travel trailer, having practiced my kayaking and swum in a balmy clear lake on a hot day.

Then there is that other catch phrase, “If at first you don't succeed try again.” Does this mean second tries always work? No — but there's at least a chance they might. When the motive is something good it's worth testing to see if the door is really closed. Because I pushed back I'm in this great campsite.

So far I've met Jan from Kansas, who taught me the basics of paddling my kayak. A mid-twenties friend has visited, able to voice some struggles in a comforting setting on the beach. I've played sidewalk chalk hopscotch with Grace and Lily — and been touched by their sincere nine and six year old hearts calling out, “God bless you.”

Connie, walking by in the sand, asked me what good thing I was reading in my opened Bible — lo and behold, it was what she needed in that moment. A couple from Priest River whom we know is camped right next to us.

Tomorrow is huckleberry picking — if we stumble upon a spot. And the next day sharing our site with family for a burger barbecue — propane grill only, as charcoal and campfires are nixed in such thirsty forest. Then it's a fishing day for Terry in his cousin's boat.

On it goes — these miraculous “shouldn't have been, but are” campground days. I'm living each one with anticipation. Gifts to be opened. Now, if I can just pack up this attitude and take it home with me.