Lying in bed this morning, listening to the raindrops tickle the tarp that topped off the roof, my mind wandered to tents— canvas tents.
The stripping and shingling took longer than the time allotted; it is understandable. Showers arrived, unmentioned by those tasked with keeping us abreast of weather events in our area. The meteorologist promised that the rain would start around eight p.m. However, it came at two: close, but no cigar.
At first, the shower seemed to be only tiny drops just swinging by to cool us off and make us smile at our misfortune. However, when it became a short-lived deluge, the water migrated into the interior of the camp, dampening all manner of bedsheets covering the third-hand furniture we had collected over the years.
Stalwart and a smidge soaked from the water coming in from above, the Significant One soldiered on, looking for ways to keep the waters at bay.
When you top off a structure with wide, three-quarter-inch thick boards, there are spaces between them, and those widen as the boards shrink over twenty-five years. When unshingled and naked to the world, those crevices take on all the properties of a sieve or colander.
We called it a day and broke out the tarps for the very tippy-top—”the peak” in man speak.
A couple more hours on a dry day in the future will complete our damp debacle.
Back to tents—this is no different, except there is no seepage. Not yet.
When it poured early this morning, well past the eight p.m. promised by the weather guessers, we were watching for water intrusion.
The good news is that we stayed dry. It made me think of my dad putting up the old canvas Army surplus tent that we used to camp out on various rocky grounds all around Maine and New Hampshire. I remember trying to find a spot in the ten-by-ten mildewed behemoth where I would remain dry when the dripping started.
Failure is a lesson, and when taught to your kids early, non-success will be nothing but a passing moment to be embraced and released.
Keep that in mind as time passes. A little water in the face never hurts anybody, barring those pesky interrogation techniques seen on television and in films.
I am telling you that we are dry here, and that’s good news on a wet day.
The better news is that the raspberry pancakes promised by the keeper-of-the-sheets should be coming along soon.
While we were roofing early, she wandered the old dirt roads above camp, taking photos and collecting wild raspberries.
She claimed it was a good day because she only had to “deal with bees, berries, and birds.”
The day came with some fog, too. Welcome to Maine.
Today, these are her pictures.
From the Jagged Edge of America, we remain dry.
TC
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