October 10, 1995

 

Dear Pam,

 

Greetings from Ozark Campground where the hosts are superior and the elk are in their mating season.

 

A young man from Kentucky told us that elk can whistle. Dad and Paul Taylor went floating, meeting a magnificent buck with many antlers. It bugled–a more accurate word than ‘whistle.’ It was an elk love call, according to Paul and Dad who are experts on this subject, and hearing a elk buck bugle for a mate( or for whatever reason) put a thrilling note into their day.

 

We received your letter. Glad you liked the walnuts and that you’re springing out of bed at 5:30 in the morning, although I can’t help but feel that this activity is a personality flaw which you inherited from the Toler side of the family.(On the other hand, because Dad got up early one morning, he met yet another male elk just across from our trailer. It was a quiet elk out strolling, maybe more interested in breakfast than a mate.) Also, regarding your letter, you’ve got me hooked–so don’t forget to let us know about the adventure with the Marshall’s Service–whatever that may be.

 

I’ve been reading poetry a lot and found this one I thought you’d like:

 

HOW TO EAT A POEM

Don’t be polite.

Bite in.

Pick it up with your fingers and lick the juice

that may run down your chin.

It is ready and ripe now, whenever you are.

You do not need a knife or fork or spoon

or plate or napkin or tablecloth.

For there is no core

or stem

or rind

or pit

or seed

or skin

to throw away.   Eve Merriam

 

Right now Dad’s on the trailer roof; I can see his legs through the vent; he has a bite on his knee; he’s putting a cover on the vent cover so it can remain open when it rains–I think. He says there are a lot of red ants up there too. Wonderful! How long will it be until they’re in here? That’s the major bulletin for today–red ants on roof.

 

Since I wrote to you we’ve accumulated other stories–both minor happenings and those as major as is possible in this place. News abounds.

 

Last Tuesday morning as I jogged, I  got fog in my hair and, that afternoon, Dad and I went to a beauty salon and had our hair styled–together. It was Dad’s idea; he called for recommendations about beauty salons and made the appointment. He’s sworn to let his hair grow long in back during this year, but it was getting too perky and quirky and full on the sides; mine just needed judicious trimming. The salon is in Harrison; it’s called Tangles; his stylist was Cindy; mine was Shay. They both did an excellent job but when we arrived and Dad saw the sign on the shop, he could have backed out. It depicted a young woman in shorts and a midriff top. She seemed to be marching with her head thrown back, and a long, marvelous cascade of her hair went all the way to the floor. Dad may have hair like that when the year is up.

 

During last week we sat with Paul and Liz Taylor in the moonlight listening to a screech owl and watched Paul and Mary Anne Hunt skip down a forest rail like Dorothy and the Scarecrow in the Wizard of Oz. We also had two campfires and one round of Smors.

 

Last Sunday morning we went to the United Methodist Church in Jasper where a choir of eight sang loud and with great joy; they had one tempo for every song–fast. Dad and I had to run to catch up, jump into each hymn without hesitation. We hesitated once and were three syllables behind for the whole song. There were thirty people in the congregation and six of them were visitors. Most of the members were over seventy and very friendly–one little old lady waved and wrinkled her nose at us as a welcome. Sunday evening we had a quiet campground. Just us, a zillion insects, a pair of newly weds in a tent, and a thunderstorm.

 

Last Saturday, we attended Forest Fest in Ponca; it was sponsored by the Newton County Wildlife Association. This was an exercise in weirdness–lots of goatees, dirty bandannas around the stringy grey hair of aging hippies, fat men wearing their tatoos instead of shirts. There were dirt-streaked faces and radical attitudes. Mildred Lurvey from church would call the whole event ‘crack pot.’ Especially the woman wearing a pin that said “I eat algae. Ask me about it.”

 

As we sat outside on Sunday afternoon, we watched a nuthatch run upside down on a tree(that’s worth a news bulletin), and a wren with a yellow belly and a white throat sang his heart out for us. Two trucks passed by our trailer and the occupants had green faces; they waved at us with green hands. Hunters. October 1 opened deer season with bows and arrows.

 

Since then we’ve had a group of deer hunters camping here. All are gone now but a man and wife from Harrison. As of yesterday, none of them had shot anything and I’m glad. More hunting news: While eating a picnic lunch or our picnic table,today( which is Tuesday, October 10) we heard two loud shots in the woods behind the trailer, sounded like a powerful rifle. Later the hunting couple stopped as they left the campground; they’d shot two squirrels up there. The squirrels here are so scrawny that I can’t imagine why anyone would want them. But, then, there’s a lot I can’t imagine in the hunting world.

 

Monday morning, yesterday, I went to check the toilet paper supply in the ladies restroom and the girl in the last stall was a large, yellow lab with a pink collar. There was no one with her. I guess she felt trapped and I was a stranger so she bared her teeth and growled.I tried to explain to her that I was just checking the toilet paper supply. She wasn’t impressed and growled again. So I said, “Okay so I won’t check the toilet paper supply, then it’ll run out, and where will you be?” Where indeed. Then I heard a timid whistle; she perked up; and I said “Is that for you?” I opened the door and let her out. A young man stood there with a leash in his hand and a silly grin where most grins are. I blathered on. “The dog and I,” I said. “Didn’t know how to take each other.” He said, “Was there another girl in there?” I said, ” Well, I didn’t see one but then I was busy talking to the dog and checking the toilet paper supply.” Then as I walked away, feeling inadequate, feeling the need to add something, I said,( knowing it couldn’t be true because the room was empty),”But, then, if she went in there, she’s probably still in there–somewhere.” Somewhere? There are only three stalls in that room but I made it sound large and full of corners and empty places where a person’s girlfriend could be lost and wandering like the Israelites in the wilderness. Then when I told Dad, he said “She came out just as you went in. I saw her, and the dog was following her, but it was a chihuahua.”

 

And so it goes at Ozark Campground, along the Buffalo River, in Arkansas.

 

Love,

Mom