The Dog Days of Summer

This is the first entry story in the SIXTY YEAR PROMISE FAMILY STORY CONTEST!  Linda Hatcher of Arkadelphia is the writer. 

Thanks, Linda, for your prompt action!

Summer time is dragging into the dog days of August here in central Arkansas where I now live. August is always a mixed bag. The summer months offer a relaxed schedule (good thing) played against a backdrop of extreme heat and humidity (bad thing). August heats up even more fiercely in Louisiana where I lived for most of my life after marrying Jimmy Hatcher, the Southern boy who stole my heart. One year many summers ago after ten days of triple digit temperatures,  Jim and I arrived suddenly at a place of desperation. In our usual last minute form, we made plans to travel north to escape the fiery furnace our state had become. We hurriedly packed the car with changes of clothes, inner tubes and ice chests, and set out to seek cooler temperatures and relaxing venues before school started in the fall. It was usually a matter of making the budget stretch, and so often Jim suggested sleeping in tents on air mattresses. I countered, “I see that camping trip and raise it to a quick Motel 6 weekend to Hot Springs.”

Or better yet. We responded to a postcard that came in the mail inviting us to a complimentary weekend in Hot Springs. And so, off we went with the two kids to Arkansas.The only catch was that we had to endure the long tour of the Hot Springs Village and listen to the sales pitch from our friendly host who pressed us to buy some property to which we could retire eventually and meanwhile use as a  vacation spot. We were honest people, we insisted, and promised we would indeed really think about buying a time share in the piney woods of central Arkansas. For the present, we answered the salesman, we would have to politely refuse to buy but gratefully accept our two night/three day stay in a cabin on beautiful Lake Hamilton. Oh the memories. Stolen nights in comfortable quarters on the lake. Vacation swimming and boating. Sunburns. Horseshoes. Card games. And best of all, time with family away from the stresses and demands of home and work. We did not have smart phones in those days. Thank God.

Hot Springs offers a myriad of distractions. Oops, I mean attractions.There is the $15 ride in the amphibious vehicle rigged out for tourists named The Duck. The driver with a microphone talks to  you about the points of interest around town. The spas, the springs, the wax museum, the boutiques and eateries. Then suddenly, the tour host drives the road vehicle right into the lake and suddenly the waters of Lake Hamilton lift you up and you are indeed, like your name sake, bobbing on the water like a duck. One of the places the tour guide points out once you are water born is the lake property of a famous gangster who had a secret escape tunnel out to the dock in case of raids by the FBI during the Prohibition era. For a youngster this is pretty exciting stuff, and I have to say as the responsible parents in the party charged with keeping our kids on the boat and out of the lake during the tour, Jim and I were having fun too.

Sometimes we did go on the ever-popular-with- Jim camping trip. We would make it to Lake DeGray in Arkansas or (even closer if we were really broke) to Caddo Lake just over the Texas line. We set up the tent and gathered wood for the campfire. The kids were excited, and Jim was in heaven. He often relived memories of camping trips out west with his family when he was just a boy. He happily regaled us with stories of the bear that he could hear breathing outside the tent. How his Dad had taught him to take no food into the tent and to tie up any food items and hang them high in a tree overnight. How he went exploring the camping site and nearly walked right off a cliff. These tales did not inspire courage in me, and you can ask the kids, I almost always slipped out to the car to sleep after everyone else in our intrepid family group was asleep. Jim was always trying to recapture those halcyon days of his youthful adventures. His main challenge was getting me into those joyfully recalled outdoor memories.

I am the quintessential city slicker. I grew up in Baltimore playing hopscoth on the pavement and riding my bike. For our annual vacations there was one scenario and one scenario only. We went ” down ne oshen.” Ocean City, Maryland. We stayed in motels that opened right onto the beach. At night we strolled the boardwalk and bought Thrasher’s french fries and corn dogs. There were no tents or campfires involved in these beach vacations. My early adventures did not equip me with the skill of getting excited about arriving at a campsite and setting up a tent and emptying all the articles out of the car which you had just packed in the car. I had not learned to be patient while the coals got hot enough to cook the food while everyone was starving after the long drive to the campsite. But I tried. God knows I tried.

Usually the first nights of these camping excursions really were a treat. Change of pace. Rustic settings.The smell of campfire food. I usually had imagination enough to unpack franks and beans. Jim opened a can of potatoes and cooked them with bacon in a skillet on the fire.The makings for S’mores which had been hastily purchased on the way out of town were retrieved from the car. Hey now on that first night, I could get into eating around the campfire.Also I enjoyed the lingering around the fire to tell stories and sing songs. Fun! But I had different emotions when we started the let’s get ready for bed routine. This involved walking to a restroom facility (sometimes quite a hike) if we were in a state park. Sending the beams of a flashlight ahead into the night, I stumbled my way to the facility that was crawling with Daddy Long-legs spiders and attracting moths and mosquitoes like crazy to the lights on the cinderblock building. There was a brave attempt made to potty whilst darting looks around for spiders, and then the brushing of the teeth in a disgusting sink, and then the trudge back to camp if the batteries in the flashlight had not already started to fade.

If it were a more primitive camp like Daisy State Park where Jim took us to camp when the babies were still in diapers, there were no restroom facilities. It was dark and wet because the rain had not let up since we crossed the state line into Arkansas. We had to rig an indoor potty with a large cooking pot which of course tumbled over before the night was through and sent us packing– loading the toddlers and all the equipment hurriedly in a downpour into the car for home. That was one first night that was not so good. Another first night that comes to mind  is the one none of us slept a wink at DeGray in our new pop up Jim could not wait to try out. The large black crows called out so early in the morning it was impossible to sleep and thus began the second day of camping when everyone is tired and grouchy. We had quite a few of these second days of camping in our married life. Enough said.

Oddly enough many years after these memories come unbidden into my heart and mind with the arrival of the sweltering last days of summer, I now live in central Arkansas just minutes from Lake DeGray and those crows. My camping enthusiast husband is now gone and hopefully organizing camping trips in much more beautiful climes and pest free places in heaven. How I wish I could share another miserable night with him and my now grown kids during the dog days of August.

Linda Hatcher