Purls of Wisdom
Peals of laughter, screeches of joy, biker gangs (the type with playing cards clothes-pinned to their spokes) roaming enthusiastically … the campground was abuzz with activity. It was actually refreshing as, so far in our journey, most campgrounds have been relatively quiet.
It was a post-card-worthy evening and we had just returned from dinner preceded by a breath-taking five-mile hike so our activity level was low-key. With thoughts of resting my trail-weary muscles, I grabbed my knitting and sat outside in my stocking feet. James took a more productive route and started to empty the tanks. Ma and Pa Kettle on a Friday night. Oh, how our lives have changed.
Two rows of knitting and purling, the squealing… no, screeching of children became louder and louder. They seem to be circling ever closer to our island of tranquility. And that’s when a little curly-haired cutie ran right through our campsite.
Kaia was not impressed. She jumped up and moved to protect me. Or so I would like to think. In actuality, she most likely wanted me to protect her. Before I could share my wisdom with the tiny rule breaker, her little sneakers carried her off around the neighbor’s camper. I started steaming, internally. Didn’t they know one of the golden rules of camping? Thou shalt not go into someone else’s campsite unless invited? I started blaming the parents in my mutterings as I knit another row. Yep, Ma Kettle. I didn’t have to wait long for my next opportunity to educate the rambunctious campground youth. Another young girl, older than the last but not by much, walked between the camper and our truck. Violation!
Here was my chance. This diminutive outlaw, however started approaching Kaia and I carrying a large stick. I was confused as she was holding the stick like a weapon rather than an aid to walk. She stopped, looked at Kaia, then looked at me and asked if she could pet the dog. Kaia, also looked up at me shuddering as if to say, “No. Mom! Just say NO. Mom! Please say no.” Because Kaia is equal parts scaredy cat and husky, our standard answer is, “No, she doesn’t like to be pet. You can wave hello though.” To keep the interactions positive, I follow that with some variation of “Thanks for asking… or …that was really good to ask.” Either my words didn’t compute or she didn’t care as she started to approach Kaia again staring intently at her. Dog people know that staring down a dog, especially when you are closer to their height, is not a good tactic in making friends. I dropped my knitting, stood quickly and said in a more forceful voice, “Stop. She doesn’t like to be pet. You cannot pet her.” The girl looked up at me with swear word eyes and proceeded to throw the stick toward Kaia and me before turning on her heel and running off. I was aghast at the disrespect and stood in a stupor. Granted, she threw it a few inches and she was several feet away, but really. James came around the corner as I found my words and I relayed the events of our site take over. He mentioned that he could make a slingshot and sit and wait for the next transgressor when I whipped my head around to look at his face and see if he was serious. I apparently missed hearing tongue in cheek and realized that there was a slight chance I was making more of the site invasion than needed. Rules! Just follow the rules and we can all co-exist fine. That was the rub. During my next several rows of the knit and purl dance I had ample reflection time. I remembered that one of us in our camper is a strict rule follower, looking at the line from a foot or two away and the other uses the line for the Cha Cha Slide.
Somewhere mid-way through row 7, another rebel wandered again through our site and I switched tactics. My “mom voice” still works and I stopped her with an efficient “hey, hey, hey!” I told her that it is not good to cut through other people’s campsites. She stuck around and was willing to dialog. Thankfully, I was better prepared. I told her that it upset the dog when people come through uninvited as our dog gets scared of people. She thought that was reasonable and summarized by saying, “so when the dog is out, we can’t cut through but when we don’t see the dog we can.”
My shoulders slumped. “No honey, it is not OK to cut through other people’s campsites ever. You should always walk around.” She looked like she was getting it.
“So, we have to go around unless you aren’t home” she said. This one was going to be trouble for her parents.
“Sweetheart,” I started as I dropped my shoulders and exhaled slowly, “You should ALWAYS go around other people’s campsites. That means from the road in front our trailer and the road behind our truck. Go all the way around.”
She nodded, then proceeded to run right through our campsite. I was shaking my head as I sat down, gave Kaia a few pats and gathered my knitting once again. At row 10, above the normal campground sounds, I heard a little voice raised with authority, “You have to go around that one on the road. The dog doesn’t like people.” Close enough.
Four more rows and another little body came flying between the truck and camper and skidded to a stop when she saw me. “Oops” she said as she turned to use the road. I yelled after her, “Good choice! Great job!” Small victories. I soon learned their excitement and need to find shortcuts was because they were organizing a parade of kids centered around one of the girl’s electric mini four-wheeler. They were inviting all the adults to grab their chairs and line the road. And, adorably, many of the adults did. We cheered as the eight little campers danced, hopped, skipped, and drove by waving and yelling, “It’s a parade!” We laughed with others whom we have never met celebrating the energy and excitement of these kids whom we didn’t know. And laughed even harder when we were told to stay in our spots and wait as the parade needed to make another loop down the road.
I was clapping and cheering the same little girls that I was trying desperately to educate regarding camping etiquette. For an entire week, I have seen the little kids, probably five to eight years old, running, biking, and driving all over the campground and have yet to see a parent or adult with them. No judgement, just an observation. It takes a village, and in this case, a campground to educate when appropriate, offer aid, cheer on, and celebrate what others find joy in. I could have let them run through our campsite without saying anything because, really, what are the little ones hurting. But, realizing that children grow to be adult campers, it was an opportunity to be a positive influence, another cheerleader in their lives; to teach them to respect other people’s space, animals, and things and then celebrate when they are successful. I put away my knitting and sat back to enjoy the sounds of happiness making sure to wave at my new little friends as they passed by on the road.
