Daisy in the Sun

She was the first thing I thought of when I awoke: the little kestrel I'd rescued on the road the day before. But I wasn't sure I had the guts to make the phone call to see how she was doing. Had she even survived the night? I didn't know if I was brave enough to handle the truth.

It was my husband's birthday weekend, and the weather, as usual, was magnificently cooperative. The huge storms moved through, the clouds cleared out, blue sky appeared, and the temperatures dropped, as they say, like a lead balloon. It was time to head to the woods! So we packed up our gear and we headed out for a Quehanna car-camp weekend, just like in the old days. When you are backpacking, it is serious business. Car-camping? Not so much.

Just before I left, I made the phone call I had dreaded: how was the little kestrel doing, my little lady hawk? Had she made it through the night? "A bit better this morning," was the news. We made a case for guarded optimism. It left me ecstatic. Hooray! A sign of hope! Let the celebration begin!

The last time we camped out, I brought my new tent, but forgot my poles. We ended up sleeping out on the ground, under an amazing star show. This time, I remembered all of my camping gear. I set up my new tent with great delight. It was maybe only the second time I'd used it. It was so high-tech, so spacious, so airy, so nice. My husband had to coax me out of it after we set it up in a practice run in the yard that time.

We stopped in Philipsburg for lunch on our way to the wild area: Kentucky fried chicken and tacos, an oddly satisfying combo. I got a two-piece meal, traditional recipe, sides of mashed potatoes and gravy and cole slaw. Ate some of it, saved some for later in the woods. Maybe cold fried chicken for breakfast Sunday morning? The thought made me smile. Be still, my beating heart!

Without backpacks, we were as two unleashed. It was partly sunny, partly cloudy. Delightfully refreshing, for June. So green. We hiked out to the shallow water impoundment and sat in our chairs and watched the clouds. The sun came and went. I took pictures of daisies: against the blue shining waters, the white and yellow of one of my very favorite wildflowers. I felt optimistic. We walked back a green path we hadn't walked before. I took lots of pictures. It was summer. We were happy. We were free.

In late afternoon, we headed to a car-camp spot overlooking a huge meadow with an excellent view of the rising moon. That is where I finished my supper of fried chicken and cole slaw (oh well, so much for cold fried chicken for Sunday breakfast), followed by a cup of hot coffee with cream from our thermos. Not too shabby for camping out! In fact, it felt very civilized. Perhaps we should live so wild more often?

We stayed up later than we should, enchanted, together watching the full moon rise. I took too many pictures. I went to bed too late. Under the light of the full moon, to the sound of whip-poor-wills, I fell asleep, counting my blessings, dreaming sweet dreams.

The song: Tom Petty, Wildflowers.