1: First Overnighter

1: First Overnighter

A Chapter by barleygirl
"

a story about my mom . . .

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Chapter 1: First Overnighter

“Are we almost there?” Ben’s family camps every summer at Standish-Hickey State Park, but this six-year-old can’t remember which river-hanging curve leads to the park entrance.

Old-growth forests crown a sheer drop-off into the Eel River gorge, but the meandering late summer stream remains unseen from high ledges along the mythical highway 101 of northern California. Grandma’s car invades a cloud of buzzing cicadas, splattering guts and wings across a hot hood and windshield.

“Look! The Peg House!” As Grandma Lila hits the final open stretch, she spots the grocery store and service station built like a lodge from solid massive logs. A flagpole sentinel thumps the stars and stripes alongside the highway as a lone afternoon gust sweeps between mountain ridges. “Grab my purse in the backseat and get out my reservation slip, will you, Ben?”

“Hickey-43! Hickey-43!” Echoing their preferred campsite number, Ben crawls between bucket seats and tumbles into the backseat where Bordeaux does her border collie tackle. “OW! Your claws need clipping! Hickey-43, over and out!”

After turning off the two-lane Redwood Highway, Lila buzzes her window down while pulling up to the park gatehouse, “stop that dog barking!”

Ben clenches her muzzle, “shut up, Bordeaux! Grandma can’t hear!”

Tipping his brown Yogi Bear hat, “will you be pic-a-nicking or camping?”

“Pic-a-nicking! Hear that, Bordeaux?” Backseat sniggers between boy and dog are ignored up front. “I hope we get Hickey-43!”

Lila hands the ranger her reservation slip knowing he won’t be able to assign the campsite Ben wants, not just yet, “many campers today?”

“Naw, not midweek like this. The park fills up Fridays, every weekend in summer.” With a fat permanent marker, the ranger scribbles a date on a registration card, ten days beyond today. “Find yourself an unoccupied campsite, clip this on the front post to show that it’s now occupied . . .”

Ben pops up from the backseat floor hugging a black-and-white brindle bundle to his chest, “then Grandma will send me and Bordeaux back to tell you we’re in Hickey-43 so you can mark that spot ‘occupied’ for the next ten days!”

“Sounds like you’ve been through this before.” The ranger pulls back on the reservation card momentarily to check and make sure a pet fee was paid, “so you probably know, young man, that dogs must be on a leash at all times.”

“Yessir!” Ben turns the dog so they’re face-to-face, “ya hear that? It’s not me! I’m gonna hafta leash you, little buddy!”

“Thank you for choosing Standish-Hickey State Park, ma’am!” Leaning toward the car, the ranger gingerly hands Lila a dog biscuit, trying not to provoke a territorial response from the backseat.

“Why thank you so much,” Lila pushes her glasses up further on her nose so she can focus on his badge, “Ranger Lionel.”

Lila pulls away from the entrance and into quiet woods where the highway noise is muffled and sunshine streamers blast down on sawdust motes of every shape and size. The hot wafting aroma of dry dusty conifers sends Lila back fifty years to when she brought her own small children up here camping.

She turns onto a narrow bumpy trail of pavement that goes around the Hickey campground loop, roughly following a sinewave cyclone fence. On the left, trees thin out along a high ledge above the river gorge and the fence spans a washout, leaving a thousand-foot cliff as an open invitation for kids and dogs.

“Do you remember Ranger Lionel?” Lila queries her grandson, but he’s busy craning his neck, looking ahead to see if his favorite campsite is occupied.

“I don’t see any cars parked anywhere along these ledge campsites so I think Hickey-43 must be empty,” Ben whispers to Bordeaux, trying to ignore whatever his grandma is prattling on about.

“Something familiar about the name Lionel,” Lila dawdles to a stop so she can check the ranger’s signature on her registration card.

“C’mon Grandma! Don’t stop! We gotta get to Hickey-43 before anyone else!”

“Maybe I’m thinking Lionel Richie . . .” Lila shoves her glasses up her nose for a closer look. “Last name looks like Richards . . . Lionel Richards. How ‘bout that?”

At this point, one six-year-old boy is exasperated and his furry companion is eager to spring from this doghouse on wheels, “GRANDMAAA! LET’S GOOOOO!”

“Stop the dog from scratching my windows,” Lila starts off again, creeping down the narrow loop, way too slow for Ben’s liking. She stops in front of Hickey-39, looking ahead at a row of empty campsites along the bluff.

“I’m outa here!” Impatient boy bangs open car door as dog leaps out, both making chase for Hickey-43, just ahead.

“Wait!  Come back here! Put Bordeaux on her leash!” Lila lets leash and registration card dangle, her arm hanging out the window as she basks in a sun-dappled reverie. To be back at Hickey again!

Ben and Bordeaux leap up onto a gargantuan picnic table made from three-inch-thick slabs of rough-hewn lumber and slathered with years of dark brown paint. These campgrounds were built during a CCC effort way back in the thirties . . . California Conservation Corps. “We hereby claim Hickey-43 conquered!”

When Ben turned six in April, he started hounding his parents about letting him go up to Hickey with Grandma Lila this summer because he’s finally old enough for overnighter camping without parents. Every summer before this, his older twin brothers got to go ahead and claim Hickey-43 before the weekend crowds arrived and took over the park. Grant and Gavin say they first got to camp without parents the summer after they turned six.

“Want to walk down to the trailhead with me?” Lila pulls her car around and backs into the campsite, leaning out the window, calling to her grandson. Her pine-scented reverie lingers. Her Hickey reverie starts the moment she pulls off the Redwood Highway for yet another whirlwind summer vacation here.

Ever since she was a young married woman, arriving at this state park for the first few summers so many years ago, Lila couldn’t wait to walk down to the river overlook after being cooped up in a car since pre-dawn with five restless toddlers. She couldn’t wait to see how the previous winter had treated the Eel River. Did a muddy torrent scour out the channel? Would the water level be high or low? Was the swimmin’ hole hugging the cliffs or maybe the stream would be split and meandering a woven pattern?

That first look down upon her beloved Eel River each summer . . .

“No, Grandma. Me and Bordeaux will stay here and unload the car,” dog and boy leap off the grand picnic table and skip across the campsite, raising a trail of dust into the tree-filtered sunlight. Ben reaches in the open window to pop the hatchback latch. “I know you like your ‘alone’ time.”

Lila needs no prompting, “you’re such a good boy, Ben. I’ll be back in half an hour.” She hugs her grandson and sets a big bold alarm clock on the throne-like picnic table, then shows Ben where to set her kitchen boxes, beside a vast rustic stove crafted from lichen-covered stones by the CCC, also built in the thirties.

“I better go to the gatehouse and register our campsite.” Ben clips a leash onto Bordeaux’s collar and then clips the registration card onto the campsite post.

“Get us a bundle of logs, too. Bring my foldout pushcart. Petty cash is in my cosmetic case which ALWAYS stays in the car! Lock up the car ANYTIME you leave the campsite! Remember to TAKE THE KEYS with you!” Lila turns to scurry across bumpy pavement, traversing the loop toward the river overlook.

A lean blue-eyed gent with full head of snow looks up from his newspaper when he hears Lila’s lively crunch approaching. He expects to see a much younger person as he waits for this mystery walker to emerge from behind the bushes.

After spotting a bouncing poof of silver curls, he wets his throat with a sip of beer before croaking, “lovely afternoon . . . lovely miss!” but she continues on down the lane without slowing, eyes straight ahead and arms pumping.

Oliver can take a rebuff because he’s used to being ignored. His wife of fifty-odd years, Ginger . . . she blows him off or berates him regularly on his weekly visits to Glen Haven. Clearly, this spry hiker is intent on her destination.

Lila’s old-fashioned hearing aids don’t filter out background noise in a lively forest of flitting birds and whooshing breezes. Her newfangled electronic aids are on order but she was unable to get the new ones fitted before leaving on her trip. She simply does not hear this man’s soft-spoken wisp of a greeting.

This camping trip is her final training attack for what’s coming up.

Lila intends to hike every mountainous trail in the park, hiking vigorously every day, because she’s in training for doing the Grand Canyon next.

After camping here at Standish-Hickey for ten days, Lila will be hiking to the bottom of the big one with two grown sons. In their forties, neither man comes close to being in the physical condition Lila is in, at age seventy-nine. Both career men spend most of their days behind desks with a supersize bag of potato chips beside a computer monitor.

Due to an inferiority complex over her advanced age, Lila has been secretly paranoid about doing this Grand Canyon trek with men half her age, so she’s been working out like a demon possessed this past year. Hunkering up and down the same steep hill in a Santa Clara county park, over and over, Lila can’t wait to hit the Hickey trails, hiking through diverse forests and up steep ridges. These trails are more rugged and much longer than where she’s been training this past year in the foothills around San Jose.

For ten days she’ll polish her year-long Grand Canyon training stint.

Lila zooms by the elderly gentleman in Hickey-53 more than once before he can finally lasso her and get her to layover in his camp chairs so they can swap some small talk. Oliver waits patiently to take a closer look at this stunning silver-haired woman who strides by his camp like a house afire.

Where the Hickey loop ends, a day-use picnic area begins. A little further on, Lila passes by a tall movie screen of cobwebby-white. Framed in logs, this marks the spot for Friday-night campfires, where naturalists demonstrate everything from avoiding poison oak and rattlesnakes, to slideshows of winter floods crashing through the swollen muddy gorge. This festive forest spot brings back memories of taking her own five children to singalongs here, years ago. Now almost eighty, Lila still camps here every summer with her three grandsons: the twins Grant and Gavin, and now this summer, her first overnighter with Ben.

Her daughter Muriel arrives tomorrow with the twins and husband Wally. They’ll all camp together for a week and a half. This is what they do every August.

Beyond rows of circled logs, top-honed into campfire benches, Lila’s heart lurches when she spots a splintered sign announcing: “Ole Swimmin’ Hole . . . 1.5 miles.”

Leaning into the rumpled cyclone fence to relax, she looks down upon the jewel of the Eel River gorge. The swimmin’ hole is deep cobalt blue and inviting this summer, nestled a thousand feet down into an expansive gorge strewn with logs like giant toothpicks tossed against the cliffs. A few massive splinters have been cracked over shed-sized boulders jutting from the sandy-rocky streambed.

Wrinkled fingers weave through the rough wire as Lila hangs from the fence, imagining she’s pushing beyond it, leaping into the abyss and hovering like a river drone. Her reverie is a slideshow, studded with so many different scenes from fifty different summers. Vacations were initially playful and passionate, but then life turned into a logistic puzzle with five kids and an ever-changing assortment of pets over the years. Not to mention neighborhood pals who would tag along on their camping trips. Or those pesky misplaced step kids that always popped out of the woodwork at vacation time.

At first, it was camping because that’s cheap. But when camping reached the price of a cheap motel room, Lila wondered: is it worth all the hassle?

Cooking every meal over a huge clunky camp stove, heating endless kettles of water over the fire for doing dishes, all those dirty dishes, and hauling all that firewood from the entrance shed. Every time they walked anywhere, it was a hassle to steer feral youngsters among the myriad forest fascinations. Two fallen redwoods used to crisscross the entire campground, massive decaying hulks as thick as Lila was tall. The kids always walked atop the whiskery balance beams, crumbling behemoths sprouting new growth with tons of hiding spots.

Lila tried to get most of her kids to do their feral droppings in a restroom most of the time while camping. But the restroom building is clear across the campground on the other end of a tunnel-like trail through deep young woods with so many alcoves just made for pooping. Why would young toddlers wait and do it in a distant building full of talkative strangers?

By the time any of it became a question in Lila’s mind, camping in Hickey-43 for ten days every August was a firm family tradition to be passed down to her kids and grandkids . . . and probably eventually to her great grandkids.

Across the vast Eel River chasm, a ribbon of tall trees decorates the top of a perpetual landslide which pulls down a few more trees, here and there, and each fresh root ball is a monster spider creeping down into the gorge. An occasional redwood juts up, here and there, like a chunky wooden space shuttle towering above the forest canopy. One fat redwood with a jagged top, lightning-bit, bites into the lazing late-day sun scattering beams upon a brilliant buttery horizon.

Lila glances at her watch and realizes she needs to head back to camp before Ben gets bored and wanders off. The first place the boys want to go . . . cross the highway to the Peg House where hand-scooped ice-cream cones are sold.

Back at camp, Lila starts a fire in the towering rock stove while Ben tries to sort out duplicate sets of color-coded tent poles. After the fire is blazing, Lila helps insert all the tent poles and soon an igloo-shaped one-man tent is pitched for each of them. The fire has transformed into glowing coals, so Lila puts a tray of still-slightly-frozen mac-and-cheese on the grate above.

A blue jay lands on the high edge of the stove stack, beyond the smoke stream, peering down at the shiny aluminum, pondering some exploratory pecks. After squawking his intent, Bordeaux pounces against a high stone with a snarl and the blue jay flits off to scavenge-dream from a high branch overhead.

“Fixing tacos, Grandma?” Ben kneels under his tent flap, arranging his sleeping bag and duffle to his liking.

“No, it’s mac-and-cheese.” As per tradition, Lila snaps a red-checked tablecloth over the massive picnic table and then arranges dishes and silverware for two. Neither she nor her daughter Muriel would think of using paper plates and plastic utensils while camping. That would be sacrilege. Two huge cauldrons, dripping from the splattery communal spigot across the lane, cradle the aluminum pan above glowing coals . . . water being heated for doing dishes later.

“S’posed to be tacos the first night!” Ben plops down on his sleeping bag and Bordeaux shakes the pillow between snarling teeth.

“We always have tacos on the first FAMILY night, which is tomorrow . . . when your mom and dad and brothers get here.” Lila peels back a corner of aluminum foil to check if the mac-and-cheese has thawed yet.

“Can we hike to the Miles Standish tree before they get here?” The boys love to see this 1200-year-old, 225-foot-tall tree, declared the biggest redwood for miles around. The trunk is so thick, it takes twenty-some grown people, hand-to-hand, to reach all the way around the circumference.

“I’m sorry I can’t take you on my hike tomorrow.” Lila stokes the fire and opens the ice chest, “orange or grape soda?”

“Grape!” Ben shoves the dog off his head and sits up in his tent opening. “No, wait. Orange! Why can’t I go on your hike?”

“This year I’ll be hiking very fast and I’m not doing any rest stops along the way. Your dad can take you kids down to the river after everything is unloaded. You need to stay in camp tomorrow to help your parents set up.”

“We already got camp set up. What else needs to be set up?” Ben grabs a small transistor radio from his rucksack, turning dials and holding it to his ear to see if anything comes in.

“You know your mom and dad. They always bring a ton of stuff.”

“Like what kinda stuff?” At six, Ben doesn’t fathom the ‘Grapes of Wrath’ camping style of his parents, lavishing their home-away-from-home with three carloads of conveniences. “Ya think they’ll bring fishing poles?”

“Oh, no doubt your dad will try to fish and he won’t catch anything, as usual.” Lila grabs two sodas and some fresh veggies from the ice chest. “You boys need to stick around tomorrow, help your dad carry all the air mattresses and inner tubes over to the restroom so he can plug in the vacuum and fill everything with air. Then you gotta help him carry everything back to camp again.”

“Oh yeah, remember all mom’s clotheslines?” Ben closes his eyes and sees his mom stringing up miles of rope around the perimeter of their huge campsite.

With a dozen beach towels hanging and assorted air mattresses propped up along the fence, Hickey-43 becomes a hidden enclave where Muriel and Wally spend a week and a half lazing in their unfolded lounge chairs next to piles of books and magazines. Adults hopscotch through fluttery pages between catnaps after each fully-loaded breakfast of bacon, eggs, country potatoes, pancakes over campfire, plus gallons of orange juice and cowboy coffee.

Gleefully, the boys are old enough to hike down to the ole swimmin’ hole without waiting for their parents to heave off their sun-dappled duffs and chaperone. The campsite exodus happens right after lunch, once the August sun thrashes through tree limbs, making cool immersion of the body a necessity.

Bent over the big picnic table, intent on tearing lettuce, shredding carrots, and slicing tomatoes into two small salad bowls, Lila doesn’t see the gray gentleman from Hickey-53 lingering in front of her camp as he returns from the restroom. The larger restroom with showers is closer to his campsite, but all afternoon he’s been dying to check this lady’s camp post to see how long she’ll be staying.

Standing there clutching his vinyl shaving kit, Oliver wonders if it would be too forward of him to step into her camp and address this industrious woman. Testing the waters, he clears his throat a few times, but it doesn’t appear she hears him.

He ambles on back to his campsite, vowing to be ready to pounce first thing in the morning. She looks like the type to hit the trail fairly early.

He’ll have plenty of time to concoct a conversation in coming days.

After dinner, Lila does the dishes by lantern light and Ben feeds Bordeaux, then walks her around the campground loop for one last potty wiggle.

“You wanna play fish?” Ben holds out a deck of cards.

“I’m beat, hon. I gotta hit the hay.” Lila strides across the lane and fills her stainless-steel water pitcher under the mossy splattery tap before digging out her toothbrush and toothpaste. “Did you brush your teeth, Ben?”

“Okay, Grandma. Here I come.” Bordeaux crawls into his sleeping bag as soon as Ben crawls out of the tent.

“Do you remember ever seeing that Ranger Lionel guy before?” Lila talks around her toothbrush with a dribble of froth leaking down her chin.

“I saw him when I got wood this afternoon.” Ben squeezes a slug of toothpaste onto his brush.

“Doesn’t he look familiar to you? Who does he look like?” Lila spits a wad of toothpaste foam on the ground.

“I don’t know why you care so much about that dumb ranger, Grandma.”

“Why do you say it like that, Ben?”

“You need to start wondering about that tall gray guy, camped a few campsites down.” Ben spits into the dirt several times as he rinses the toothpaste from his mouth.

“Why should I wonder about him?” After rinsing, Lila wipes her face with a damp washcloth and then fluffs it out to dry on the table.

“For starters, wonder why he stops in front of our camp to watch you.” Ben races to his tent to crawl into his sleeping bag.

“Are you saying I have a stalker?” Lila walks over to listen to Ben’s prayers.

“No, Grandmaaaaa . . . I’m saying you have an admirer!”

“Oh, come on! Nobody’s gonna notice this old wrinkled prune-face!”

“No, really. Maybe you should check the mirror.”

“Check for what?” Lila instinctively pulls the sleeping bag up around Ben’s shoulders even though the evening’s still warm.

“I’ve been watching the way this old man camper looks at you and I gotta tell ya, this man is likin’ what he sees!” After saying his prayers, Ben grudgingly lets his grandma kiss him goodnight.



© 2021 barleygirl


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Author's Note

barleygirl
Thank you for sharing . . .

My Review

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Featured Review

We are getting to know your family. How wonderful you are writing a story about your Mom. Camping trips with family and things our grandparents told us stay with us throughout our lives. Very nostalgic and filled with the warmth of a loving family. Not sure when I will have the time to read the other chapters, but I will eventually get there. Lydi**

Posted 3 Weeks Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

2 Weeks Ago

Thank you so much for dropping by to tackle a long one! I am having fun writing this. It's a story e.. read more



Reviews

Seeing that I loved my mother I am Happy to read your experiences with your mom.
I love the dog's name.

Posted 1 Week Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Week Ago

Thank you for stopping by to take the extra time on a longer read (((HUGS))) Fondly, Margie
We are getting to know your family. How wonderful you are writing a story about your Mom. Camping trips with family and things our grandparents told us stay with us throughout our lives. Very nostalgic and filled with the warmth of a loving family. Not sure when I will have the time to read the other chapters, but I will eventually get there. Lydi**

Posted 3 Weeks Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

2 Weeks Ago

Thank you so much for dropping by to tackle a long one! I am having fun writing this. It's a story e.. read more
I love love love your story voice, Margie! I have been in a rough patch of writer's block lately and finally wrote no finished a poem yesterday and in the time it took me to write 7 stanzas in 12 days you have written 7 chapters:/ LOL I want what you are smoking:)

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

I hate to break it to ya, but I finished chp 23 yesterday . . . 160 pages in 6 weeks! I'm really int.. read more
A wonderful story had began. I loved the people and the places in the chapter dear Margie. I will keep reading. Thank you for sharing the amazing story.
Coyote

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

I do feel this story is a gift & that's why I'm sharing it openly instead of trying to make money se.. read more
Coyote Poetry

2 Weeks Ago

One day. Can be a book dear Margie. I have wrote for pleasure for 50 years. We must one day. Share o.. read more
This one is well paced, very descriptive and with good dialogue. This first chapter is a setting of the story, with many of the major players introduced. We feel this is a special time for Lila, a renewal of a family tradition and a chance to test her long practiced hiking skills. Oliver appears to be a significant character, too, and there is the feeling he will come to figure more prominently in Lila's life. As for Ben, this camping trip will be something that will be meaningful to him long after it is over.

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

Thank you for stopping by to check out my story & leave many uplifting comments! I'm deep into it no.. read more
I love the complex language you use! It's so pleasant and relaxing to read, and there is so much passion and detail in it, that you rarely see in other stories The descriptions make me feel as if I'm really there. I feel like I'm really in the woods,

It's such a rich story, the characters are already so great and it certainly gives you a feeling of warm nostalgia. And I personally really enjoy the complicated vocabulary. I love the characters, the description, the feeling this book gives so far... I can't wait to read more!

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

Thank you for such a descriptive & enthusiastic review! I'm very much into this story now. I've been.. read more
Colacat

1 Month Ago

I know the exact feeling, needing to finish it! It was my pleasure (:
I gotta be honest Margie
I don't read a lot of books, so kinda hope you take what I say with a pinch of salt
I got engrossed in it so much I had to turn the telly down
Most readers enjoy the imagery of nature
I don't
Only because I'm itching to learn more about the characters
It's clever mingled
At first I thought that ranger was from Glasgow with the " naw"
Then his name was Lionel, so doubt it
Great introduction to interesting people
If the 1st chapter is meant as bait, it works treat

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

I agree . . . long nature passages make my eyes glaze over, too. Long descriptive passages of any ki.. read more
Great Margie. Your descriptive skills are obvious in your telling of this family camping trip. All the characters are described with great affection. For younger kids the familiar tradition and all the detail down to the first night meal make it something eagerly looked forward to. I can remember the same feeling with annual scout camps. We know exactly what to expect and it was fun.
Well done!
Cheers,
Alan

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

There's something about those childhood camping details that makes everyone who reads this go wild. .. read more
You seem at home with these writes Margie, so nicely written, rich in imagery and the characters are so real. Some campers are like nosy neighbours always looking in other peoples going ons!

Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

I have written 6 books which were "so-so" . . . all to get to this point, where I could write this s.. read more
This is a pleasant read, just as I had expected. Your soul is intertwined with nature. And in times like this, we really need someone to help us remember the simplicity, benevolence and beauty of earth. The six-year-old really stirred in me emotions that go way back in time (20 years or more) when I could not wait to get out of my parents car to explore the hills, pine trees and stop my mouth from watering at the smell wafting through the air, of grilled kabab, chicken and fresh salad. Songs from the twenties that my uncles play from their cars as we all sit around a fire by nightfall....

Your descriptions are so vivid and heart-warming, I almost feel like I've gone on a camping trip just by reading this. I can taste the orange juice, smell the food cooking, hear the rustle of the colossal trees that rule the forest with both strength and kindness... I can feel the cool waters of the river contrasting the heat of midnoon. And I adore animals especially dogs and rabbits, so Bordeaux is already an important character that piques my interest constantly. Animals are wonderful companions on trips like this.

My only suggestion for improvement would be to simplify some vocabulary related to the environment around you, to make easier for people living in different geographical locations and cultures to understand and imagine the surroundings.

I like Lila already, because that's how I aim to be when I grow older...full of life and pleasant memories and never needing the assistance of anyone else.

Some of my favorite lines:

"One fat redwood with a jagged top, lightning-bit, bites into the lazing late-day sun scattering beams upon a brilliant buttery horizon."

"With a dozen beach towels hanging and assorted air mattresses propped up along the fence, Hickey-43 becomes a hidden enclave where Muriel and Wally spend a week and a half lazing in their unfolded lounge chairs next to piles of books and magazines. Adults hopscotch through fluttery pages between catnaps after each fully-loaded breakfast of bacon, eggs, country potatoes, pancakes over campfire, plus gallons of orange juice and cowboy coffee."



Posted 1 Month Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

barleygirl

1 Month Ago

WOW! This is an amazing & uplifting review . . . I thank you for that. Many readers complain about m.. read more

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Added on February 11, 2021
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Author

barleygirl
barleygirl

Central Coast, CA



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