Breaking Camp

 

            It was only December 30^th, but Marge decided to pack up early. It was going to be a bigger job than moving in had been. It always is. She had acquired a few things since that day, such as the Christmas tree and the string of lights.
            Her beater Accord, parked in one of the spots there at the campground was going to be full.
            There was bedding, with two big pillows. Her rather basic wardrobe of clothing and toiletries,  her few dishes and pans, some groceries. Ah, then she remembered to clean up the fridge.
            The bedding and clothing and the Christmas tree went into the back seat. The kitchen junk went into the trunk.
            Twigg’s basket sat on the passenger side seat.
            The last thing she put into the trunk was her string of lights all in a loose pile.
            She drained the faucet as directed.
            Marge was pretty ambivalent about moving in with Enid and Arthur. Having a stepfather at her age felt silly. Maybe she would think of him only as Enid’s new husband. Well, he did give Enid someone else to concentrate on.
            For breakfast she finished off the last of a quart of milk, drinking it out of the carton to save dirtying dishes, and she ate the last of the corned beef. She smiled remembering those big sandwiches.
            Her last chore was to take Ranger Rick the key to the mobile.
            She took a last look at the small mobile. The sky was clouding up; it looked like more snow soon. The air was cold. The sun slipped behind a cloud and suddenly it felt like winter. She shivered, more from a state of mind than body. The forest brooded.
            Hondas never die, so the old beast started right up. She rolled slowly out of the campground and down to the station parking lot and found a spot next to Dexter’s ride. It wasn’t any better than her own. Rick’s truck was not there.
            When she stepped through the office door, she found the room empty, but heard sounds out in the kitchen area.
            “Dexter, I’m leaving. I brought the key,” said Marge.
            “Oh, I was washing cups and stuff,” he said. “I’m babysitting the office. There isn’t much to do right now.”
            “Where shall I put the key,” said Marge.
            “Oh, I don’t know where he keeps it. Just put it on his desk,” said Dexter. “Um, do you think you’ll be back in the spring, Marge?”
            “I’m tentatively planning on it, but I’m not sure of anything, really, right now,” she said.
            He rolled his sleeves back down and buttoned the cuffs. “I hope you do.”
            “Thanks, Dexter. I hope you don’t expire from boredom out here.”
            “I might,” he said, and laughed a little ruefully.
            Marge laid the brass mobile key on Rick’s desk front and center and left the building.
            Tiny twinkling snowflakes were falling. The air was dead calm. The forest waited.
            She went to her car door and stood there as if she were thinking. She glanced at the heavy dark trees.
            Marge remembered being able to enter the Home Clearing from the meadow direction without any difficulty. She decided to try it from this side. She was drawn there, lonely for the family there. Her mom wasn’t expecting her today anyhow. She felt change in the air. A free day, in any case.
            More snow was falling. It caught in her dark hair, like stars. She walked around the dumpster to Ralph’s path and entered there.
            A great black Raven watched from a high branch, then flew deeper into the forest.
            The path opened in front of Marge. It showed itself to her clearly. The way to go was obvious.
            As she walked two great tawny cats joined her on either side. She placed a hand on each head. Bob and then Berry smiled cat smiles up at her face, and then nodded down the way. Soon she could see a clearing opening up. It was familiar but now she was coming from the opposite side. She could see a fire burning brightly at its center, and there was a figure sitting by the fire looking watchful.
            She walked on. Bob and Berry accompanied her ceremonially.
            “Hello, Daughter,” said Ramona. “Welcome to my fire. Come and sit with me.”
            So, Marge, little reader, thinker, artist, walked to Ramona and took a seat beside her.
            “Ramona, I missed you. I wanted to see you before I left the camp for the winter,” she said. The fire felt wonderfully warm and bright as she gazed into it.
            “Ralph and Twigg are fishing. Cherry and Blue are sleeping inside. Tell me, my dear, how are you today?” said Ramona.
            “I don’t quite know, Mother Ramona,” said Marge. “I am neither here nor there, it seems. I don’t know where to be, or where I belong.”
            Ramona turned and looked at the girl sitting there with snow in her hair and tears in her eyes. Her expression became even softer, and she sighed.
            “Tell me about your father, Child,” she said at last.
            “My father was a wild man. He died on a mountain somewhere,” said Marge. “I never knew him. He was gone before my birth.”
            “I’m not surprised,” said Ramona. “I see wildness in you. It’s no wonder that you don’t know where you belong.”
            “The last time I spoke with Twigg’s father, I told him that I wished that I could be one of you here, and he said no one but I had ever said that to him,” Marge said.
            “It’s true, no one else ever said that to us,” said Ramona. “But you see, there is no difference, only some can’t see it. Can you see it, Marge?”
            “I see only that I love you, and Cherry and Ralph and Twigg with all of my heart, and I see no difference in love,” said Marge.
            Ramona nodded and was silent. They watched the flames together for a while.
            Maeve floated softly down from the tree tops then, landing on Marge’s shoulder as she did with Ralph. She had nothing to say, but only laid her head against Marge’s head. She made a soft sort of raven cooing for comfort.

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