Up To Camp
"I think you made that up," Mary said, 'I think it's something you tell the tourists to mess with their heads."
"I did not make it up."
"I'm sorry," she responded, shaking her head, "But I don't believe porcupines fall out of trees."
Mary had been appalled by how many roadkill animals they had seen since they'd turned off the interstate and on to the state highway. They had seen squirrels and skunks but there had been a particularly large number of porcupines, and Alvin had remarked that not all of them had been hit by cars, that some might have fallen from trees.
"Why don't you believe it?" he asked.
"First of all, I'm skeptical that they climb trees at all. And if they do know how to climb trees, then why do they fall out of them?"
"They climb too high so as to nibble on leaves or pine needles and a big wind comes along and blows them out."
"Well, maybe. But I still think you're messing with me, and besides, that doesn't account for all the dead ones in the road. They didn't all fall out of trees." "No, they get hit by cars because they don't run away. A raccoon or a skunk in the road will run away when they hear a car coming, a porky thinks it can stand and fight."
"Thats awful."
"Yes, well, they generally lose. But look at it this way. We killed off most of the predators, so now the cars take that spot in the food chain."
"I am not buying the idea that running animals over with cars maintains the balance of nature."
"You don't know that the critters don't prefer it to getting eaten by wolves."
"You people are savages."
Alvin laughed, and Mary turned to gaze out the window. The light was fading but when she looked to the west she could still see mountain peaks silhouetted by the setting sun. The Presidentials, Alvin had told her, the highest peaks in New England.
She had been marveling at the scenery since they left Londonderry. She had packed the day before and taken her things to Alvin's house, still was not sure that she was well prepared for a weekend "up to camp," as Alvin called it, because she wasn't sure what going up to camp really meant. She knew they were going to sleep in a tent, and she wasn't looking forward to that, but she was excited about being invited along to what seemed to be an important family event.
When her work shift ended, she changed into jeans and a sweater in the ladies' room. Alvin was waiting outside in his pick up truck. There was a folded tent in the back, along with camping gear, a pair of sea bags and Mary's suitcase, all tied down with bungee cords.
They bought burgers and sodas at the McDonalds drive through, and headed out of town. It was a beautiful early autumn evening. A line of towering cumulus clouds hovered over the bay, but they were moving away from shore. There was a chill in the air and the first tints of red and gold were appearing on the trees.
"I can't believe it's already Fall," Mary said as she watched the scenery pass by, "It's very much still summer back in California." She almost said "back home," but that didn't sound right to her anymore.
"You know the saying," Alvin said, "we have two seasons in Maine, winter and the Fourth of July."
Mary put her hand on his thigh and squeezed. "Well, I just had the best summer of my life."
Alvin glanced at her and took her hand. He lifted it to his lips and kissed it. "I believe I did as well," he said.
There were a handful of CDs in the glove box, and Mary shuffled through them. They listened to Tom Petty and Bruce Springsteen as the highway rolled over ever larger hills and the towns and farms grew further apart. With every rise and around every curve, Mary was captivated by the beauty of the landscape. She saw great vistas of lake and forest. She saw cozy cottages and abandoned barns. She saw a herd of horses galloping in their pasture and a flock of geese heading south for the winter.
It took an hour to reach the Interstate. They headed north for another half hour, then exited onto the state highway that Mary would always think of as "Roadkill Road". After about fifteen minutes, they entered a small town and Alvin pulled into the parking lot of a variety store. A sign out front identified it as The Granthams Corners Store, and advertised "Cold Beer, Guns and Ammo, Wedding Gowns". A second, hand painted sign below it warned, "Last Gas For 32 Miles".
Mary thought the top sign was a joke, but when she entered the store, she saw that it was not. An alcove leading off from the rows of cold drinks, snacks and auto supplies contained two racks of wedding dresses.
"Don't even be looking at those," Alvin said as he squeezed past her and ducked into the men's room. Mary scowled at him, but dismissed the remark as a flippant joke.
Mary used the bathroom, then met Alvin at the front counter. He handed her a whoopie pie and a can of Coke.
"How much further?" she asked him as they climbed back into the truck.
"Half hour or so," he said. "Say goodbye to civilization, it's all willywacks from here on out."
The woods grew thicker on either side of the highway and while a thin strip of sky held some light, the road was completely engulfed in darkness. After a little while, Alvin turned left onto a narrow dirt road that sloped precipitously downhill. He rode the brakes for a half mile or so, then, after coming to an almost complete stop, turned right on to a winding two track. After they had bounced along the rough road for a couple of minutes, Mary saw glimmers of light through the trees.
Alvin pulled into the clearing. It was as familiar to him as the home he grew up in. Some of his earlier memories were here; fishing off the dock with Diana and his father, curling up in the corner of one of the cabin's bunks while a thunderstorm boomed overhead, sitting in the porch swing on his grandfather's lap, listening to the Red Sox while the old man smoked a cigar and drank his Narragansett.
The yard was lit by a floodlight. He recognized Diana and Bob's SUV and Charlotte's Prius parked side by side near the cabin. Further to the side, half hidden under the trees, was Tim's pick up camper. He parked behind it and got out of the truck. Mary walked around from the passenger side, and took his hand.
"I smell a campfire," Mary said.
"I love that smell," Alvin replied.
As they walked across the dooryard, his nephew Theo came running around the corner of the cabin towards them. He made a beeline for Mary and threw his arms around her hips. She leaned down and hugged him.
"Aunt Mary, did you bring any cookies?" he asked.
"No, honey, I'm sorry, I didn't."
"That's okay," he said, "we got lots of good stuff."
Mary and Alvin looked at each other. Each knew what the other was thinking. Theo had called her "Aunt Mary".
They stepped around the corner of the cabin, Theo tugging at Mary's hand. The ground sloped gently towards the lake. Alvin stopped and looked around at his family, gathered around the fire, in the yard between the cabin and the dock. Theo continued to drag Mary forward, shouting, "Mama, Mama, come see Aunt Mary!"
Mary looked over her shoulder at Alvin, and even in the gloaming, he come see the smile on her face. He realized, with a sudden catch in his breath, that to his eight year old nephew, Uncle Alvin had always been alone.
Charlotte stepped forward and greeted Mary with a warm hug, then strode up the slope to her father. Alvin squeezed her and kissed her forehead. She wrapped her arm around his waist and joined him in watching Theo introduce Mary to his mother.
"I think Theo has his first crush," Charlotte said, as Mary and Molly chatted. Tim stood near them, holding his son's shoulders, while the boy looked up at him, chattering.
Alvin laughed. "She said she was the Faulkner charmer."
"Well, Theo's a bit of an easy mark. I guess you were, too."
"She was talking about you when she said it."
Charlotte laughed and elbowed him in the ribs.
"Where's your sister?" Alvin asked.
"They are coming up in the morning."