Roughing It

Last night was the girls' final dress rehearsal for their spring dance recital ("Dancing to the Stars," 4:00 P.M., May 19 and 20, Stickney Auditorium, Dickinson State University). While they rehearsed, Susan and I bought a bunch of flowers to put in pots in front of our house and on our veranda. We got several large pots with plants already in them. They can take full sun, so we got them to decorate the cement pad between our driveway and our front door on the southwest corner of our house. We already have several empty pots, so we got potting soil and several flats of a variety of flowers to pot as we see fit. They all take partial sun, so they should enjoy living on the veranda on the east side of our house.

While Susan picked up the girls from dance, I placed the potted plants beside the driveway. We ate supper on the veranda and then hung out on the bench outside the front door while Susan deadheaded the plants and the girls jumped rope, played in the grass, danced around, etc. It was a gorgeous evening: slight breeze, not too warm or cool, no bugs (well, Susan did kill one mosquito). We even went as a family for a walk around the block just after dusk.

When we returned, we decided the weather was just perfect for a campout. We don't have a tent or cots, but we do have sleeping bags and a lovely veranda. So the girls and I (Susan's back is still not tip-top, so lying on a tile floor all night did not entice) laid out some quilts, put our sleeping bags atop them, got our pillows and blankies and stuffed animals, and snuggled up for a night sleeping in the great outdoors. We heard birds and squirrels and breezes through the trees and soon were off to slumberland.



The serenity ended about 1:30 A.M. when the artic gales awoke Daddy. Abigail stayed asleep, but Suzanna could not get warm enough and commenced a routine of continually scootching over next to my sleeping bag, shivering, re-scootching, re-shivering, etc. Hillary had scootched her little butt right out of our shared sleeping bag, so I scooped her up, pulled her back in, and pinned the edges of the sleeping bag on either side of her, using my arms to hold it down. She buried her face in my chest and wrapped her arms and legs around me to stay warm.

This I took to be a sign: Time to move indoors. That we did, and I'm sad to say the weather is no less chilly and windy this morning. Our plants and bags of potting soil are still waiting on the veranda while we sit inside warming up over ice-cream-caramel rolls, scrambled eggs, bacon, and coffee. It's a reminder of why our family chooses to "go camping" in this manner: sleeping outdoors is fine with me so long as the comforts of home are from one inch to three feet away.