Like those sparrows
Let the record show: warm weather has returned. And so did we, like the swallows in that small Italian Californian cliffside. One moment while I point out that I believed the birds and the town were an Italian thing; not so, says Wiki. I won’t argue. Continuing… we returned to the campground (the one we love, for a lifetime). Not to camp, although that’s still possible. More to soak up the atmosphere.
Because any good campground has one. Not just the aroma of urinal cakes, and the cloying humidity of a really hot shower. There’s so much more. The bench in front of the reception window. The bird feeder. The garden (not yet planted, due to an amazing cold start to the season). We were back, just to see how it felt.
No changes: that’s fair. There are still sites available, although I hope the tourists come soon (check the swallow reference). We spent some time talking to complete strangers, who seemed unaware that we weren’t actually there to eat and sleep. Some dog greets. An admiration of the beach (sandy). And a relaxed demeanor.
Earlier in the afternoon, I’d taken the dog for a walk all the way down our hill. Right to the water’s edge. Another place that still is without its tourist population, although I did see a car over by the large cottage. Summer will get here.
Not much else to note. I gave a quick training session on the BBQ, although my student seemed more in awe of the char already accumulated, and less in awe of the potential to turn raw into table-ready.
