"Traditions"

A few years ago, after a serious health scare, my husband and I decided to cross off one of the items on our marital bucket list.  We bought a motor home and determined to hit the road when our demanding schedules permitted, as we both work full time.  This motor home still takes my breath away with its beautiful appointments and range of features.  You could very comfortably live in it, if you became what's known in the RV community as "full timers".

I had never imagined myself as an RV type of person until we started putting ours to good use.  We are fortunate to be within 20 minutes or so of a lake which offers lots of great opportunities for recreation and relaxation.  On some of our earliest trips, I knitted scarves, made beaded and sterling earrings, read, and sometimes just studied the details of the surrounding forest from the comfort of my chair.  My husband read, tied flies for fishing, and enjoyed an occasional cigar.  We bobbed along the shore in our float tubes and discovered our dogs' extreme love of swimming.  And, of course, we talked for hours on end.

After I signed my book contract ("The Essential Guide to Surviving Infidelity"), the early morning hours--when I relish solitude and silence--were devoted to writing.  In fact, I'm writing this post while we're parked by a gorgeous lake in the North Georgia mountains.  Our getaways are my perfect backdrop for contemplation and composition, before the activities of the day get underway.

About three years ago, we started making an annual pre-Thanksgiving trek with some dear friends to a North Georgia park graced with a spectacular waterfall and gorge.  These folks live a mere 15 to 20 minutes from us, but ironically the demands and pace of everyday life seem to prevent us from getting together more than once every few months.  Since that first trip together, we've made it a point to create a valued annual tradition.

We've explored other campgrounds, but the format for the weekend is pretty much the same.  Time spent getting the RV ready to use, unpacking food, sheets and towels, and getting something defrosted for the evening's dinner.  There's casual conversation as we go in and out of the motor home and see our neighbors similarly involved in their set-up tasks.

Finally, it's time to relax and spend time together.  The men may enjoy a cigar and we may share some wine.  Last night, as the sun was going down, we built a roaring fire in the campground firepit.  The dogs surveyed nearby campers and their dogs.  People occasionally stroll onto your site and ask about the dogs, or where you're from, or whether you've been to this campground before.

Dinner is usually served on the picnic table on one of the two sites.  Lights are strung up, and the campground comes alive with the sounds of laughter, conversation, and music.  Soon the smell of food grilling perfumes the air and mingles with the smoke of the campfires.  After dinner and cleanup, we all return to our places around the campfire and devote ourselves fully to enjoying companionship and the break from our routines.

As traditions go, this annual trek is fairly simple--no plane or hotel reservations, no concerns about wardrobe (other than staying warm).  But it's treasured and eagerly anticipated time together with some of our closest friends, and an invaluable reminder of what really matters in this life.  Like the changing color of the leaves in the fall, it's a foretaste of the true meaning of Thanksgiving and our expressed gratitude for the blessings of love and friendship.