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Woolly Visitors The crumbled rock ledge above us consisted of flat, thin pieces of shale. Fragments slid down, tinkling musically like glass wind-chimes. In the dawn, a canoe paddled silently, rippling the water's mirror calm surface. Walkers on the sandy beach across the lake appeared to be in the midst of a quandary: To swim or not to swim? That was the question. The old expression, "familiarity breeds contempt," rang true this morning. After a year of constant togetherness Sharon and I argued about the silliest things. We thought we knew what the other was going to say and do before they did. We didn't really listen to one another any more; we had nothing new to share. Our habits got on the other's nerves. To cool off, Sharon walked down to the lake, along a shady treed path, where she plunged in for a refreshing dip, taking advantage of the thirty-two degree Celsius heat-wave. I wrote postcards from my stockpile to neglected family and friends. A family of four, with two young sons, came hiking past our tent. The little boys saw our bikes and asked their Dad why we weren't cycling. "Too hot for cycling," their Dad told them. Yep, I thought, always something: too hot, too wet, too windy, too cold. It was probably cooler cycling than lying in the tent in this heat. At least I created a breeze when I pedaled. We laid our camprests in the sun to dry and draped the sleeping bags over the bikes to air out. They smelled Downy fresh when I retrieved them. I heard whistles as a farmer gave instructions to his wily sheep dog. Sharon and I hoped we were not going to be entertaining company. Alas, an hour later, a flock of sheep passed shyly in front of our tent. From the pasture's gate, we were around a slight bend in the path and tucked in the crook of the rock ledge. The corner blocked us from view. We waited for the farmer to discover our camp. Satisfied the sheep would find their own way the farmer never did come along. And they did--with a moment's hesitation when they first saw us--stopping to gape and sniff the air cautiously before proceeding to the luring green grass beyond. Soon they made themselves at home and milled around the tent chomping grass. I hoped they didn't develop a fondness for nylon. Two adventurous woolly souls scrambled up the steep loose shale scree behind the tent and set off small avalanches of rock and dust. The lambs called for their mothers. To me, it sounded like they were bellering "Maaa!" Each unanswered "Maaa!" raised the cry of each successive call until it reached a furtive wail. Finally, Mother spied, off they dashed for a quick dose of milk, tails wagging fiercely at the tantalizing taste of the elixir. Sharon thought they sounded like they were calling "Meeee! Then added, "Just like kids." After supper we watched a striking sunset with brilliant orange lensticular clouds. With our arms wrapped around each other's waist we apologized for being such cranks. We realized we were getting a chance to do something together most people never got. For every bad moment there were many more good ones making up for the tribulation. |
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