One Night Real Estate turns into Squatting

Epic Post-Vaccine Cross Country Road Trip

The road is straight, the hot spot is working on my phone, and I am not driving — Merv is. All is well in the familiar inside of our Volvo, reassuring and warm in the 40 degree morning of western Oklahoma. Warm is especially delightful to me now.

We camped last night in a “primitive” area of Fort Cobb State Park, Oklahoma. “Primitive” we learned, still has amenities. The flat parking area, the concrete picnic table, the fire pit and the pole for hanging lights all made it a nice site. Down the gravel road and up a hill was the privy, clean and unused, I think, so early in the camping season.

We drove around to choose our site, and did, without getting out of the car. Paying for it was all on line, while parked. Then we got out to admire the piece of real estate that would be ours for a while, to discover high winds. The poplars were so windswept, broken and leafless that we had not suspected the wind’s force. The wide lake had white caps. We popped the car-top tent, put up the ladder, and set up the kitchen.

Establishing home in a campground requires first a table cloth. To keep the wind from blowing it away, we tied it down at both ends. I set the table, with our camp utensils and wine glasses. I slipped the napkins under the rope that tied the tablecloth down. But then the wine glasses blew over. We needed to move. We left our paid site and moved to another, and squatted. Out of the direct path of the wind, I could cook. The lettuce for the salad began to blow out of the bowl, but fortunately the yellow pepper, tomatoes, oil and vinegar weighted it down. There is a reason, I see now, that we refer to “dressing” the salad.

Supper over, for Judge and us, we played cribbage. I wondered if the old cribbage board had ever been to Oklahoma. It was heavy enough not bo blow away. The cards, though needed to be weighted down with stones. Sadly for me, Merv won. His satisfaction at beating me, though, was pleasant to see.

The downed poplar branches made a good hot fast burning fire. Merv set up the chairs. I got out the blankets, and we watched the sunset while the birds argued. One set of geese seemed quite troubled at our choice of campsites. (I interrupt this story to tell you that tumbleweed just blew across the road.) perhaps the site we had squatted on was theirs. With Judge close by, they did not bother us.

Bed was as simple as climbing up the ladder, for us. Judge went into his spot in the car. We lay in the tent, listening to the geese honk, and the waves lap against the shore. The tent flaps, where they extend beyond the zippers, flapped in the winds. I worried we would blow away. A truck drove by. I worried that it would stop. I worried that the lake would flood. I worried that my worrying would keep me from going to sleep, in that warm cocoon of blankets, duvets, soft pillows, and flannel sheets. Being on an epic journey, though means holding fast to courage. Then I went to sleep.

Morning isn’t so easy. 40 degrees. Pulling on long-John’s, sweater, fleece, vest, jacket, hat, gloves, headlamp. Two pairs of socks. Shoes. Finding the privy. Finding the muesli I made last night. French press coffee pot. Start the camp stove. Make the coffee. Wash the dishes. That was the hardest. But the stars!

Off we are, in Texas now. Sorry, Texas, just traveling through , like the tumbleweeds, off to a new piece of real estate for the night, in New Mexico this time.

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