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Camp Envy/Out of Isolation 2020

Published on by Kathy Baker

Michigan is finally opening their doors after long months of quarantine from Covid-19. The beautiful spring flowers seem to be celebrating by opening their blooms and showing us all is well. Social distancing and masks still seem to be the norm, especially for the small family businesses in Hale, but I feel fortunate to enjoy two rural areas to call home, with fewer cases of the virus.

Our kids and grandkids had it the roughest, teaching and working from home, plus agonizing through two successful emergency surgeries for one family. With all the time at home eating up vacation time and loss of income, we won’t have the same amount of family visiting this summer. Our eldest grandson, Keegan, drove up with us to help open up and begin the first of many projects with my husband. A new clapboard ceiling is being installed after a leak on our roof ruined our previous installation. (The porch has an addition from the original to accommodate all the historical tables and benches for our entertaining.)

Our Adirondack chairs, that survived a few Florida hurricanes, received a new coat of paint, but my favorites are the old heavy metal lawn chairs. Years ago I had them sandblasted and powder coated, and they look like new. Does anyone remember them at camp? They were beige and rusting and looked beyond repair, but these heavy chairs are great on the lawn. We sit out there at twilight until the mosquitoes chase us inside.

Our campfires and outdoor seating areas will be the new summer meeting spots. The residents of Maqua are predominately retired folks with underlying conditions and our hearts want to hug and socialize, but our heads know that if we want to keep ourselves and family visitors safe, we need to continue to distance. The original spot for the campfire pit is the most used, but my sons built a small one for us on the lodge lawn, so young mothers could hear their toddlers inside and still enjoy a campfire.

Thank heavens for our pontoon boats, where we can dock side by side, converse and float on Loon Lake, We have one baby Loon to watch this summer, but the resident Eagle enjoys tormenting Mama and baby. Our boat was in for new upholstery, console and motor, but the businesses are just opening up and work loads are heavy, so we are praying it is here before our son and family arrives for the July 4th festivities and boat parade. The highlight of every sunset cruise is spotting the Loons, but we pray the geese don’t stop and “drop” on our decks.

Clean-up of the surrounding property is a never-ending project, but beach and boathouse area are all weeded. The lake had a high water level this past winter, so erosion is evident, and it’s pine pollen season, so there is a fine yellow powder dusting on everything. It is nice to sit on our boats and deck area and watch life go by, but many of our porches are still under tarps until the pollen eases. To all the previous campers and staff, we wish you a happy summer outside!

Camping Indoors

Published on by Kathy Baker

Greetings to all those in isolation during the COVID-19 Pandemic! During these days of indoor “camping” and social distancing, I cannot help but wonder if the skills you learned at Camp Maqua are helping you during these times. Surely, there are more stories to be told of survival skills and talents of those years that you could share? What are you doing to retain your sanity?

My husband and I are living a smaller footprint here in Florida, having sold our course  and our larger home. The guest house is perfect for the two of us and it is situated a mile from the Peace River, where we can watch the sunset with others. (Six feet apart, of course!) We have plenty of projects to keep us busy, from painting to gardening. We get out every day to either ride our bikes or walk and the weather has been unseasonably warm. At the end of the day, we sit on our new deck, eating dinner and relaxing with the sound of cows, turkeys and a braying donkey next door. Life is good and so far, we are healthy.

We had just visited all four of our children, here in Florida and in California, before the country went on lock-down. How wonderful it is not to be deprived of seeing our grandchildren in this time of social media. FaceTiming and Skyping brings them into our house without contact. We have tremendous empathy for the three families with young ones, home from school. Two of the daughter-in-laws are teachers and one has to begin virtual teaching next week, with four-year-old twins and an eight-year old. One has two toddlers in San Francisco and the weather has not been cooperating for them to burn off extra energy from being house-bound.

Although I was never a camper at Maqua, my Burningman experience this past summer taught me how to live very simply for six days. My daughter and husband did all the shopping ahead of time, and it was amazing to watch the meals appear from a desert kitchen on a two-burner cook stove. The shower utilized gray water from the ice in the coolers, and when we did not use the porta-potties, we used our “She-Pee” portable urinal in our tent. We stayed hydrated with water from our camel-backs and ate very sparingly. We conserved energy during the day, while sitting under shade structures. I never felt like I was in survival mode, because I had everything I needed, but the heat and harsh desert conditions were like nothing I had ever experienced.

The most amazing part of the whole Burningman experience for me was experiencing the ten principles practiced by all those who attended. (Radical inclusion, gifting, decommodificatios, radical self-reliance, radical self-expression, communal effort, leaving no trace, participation and immediacy.) No matter which camp I walked or biked to– someone greeted me, gifted me, fed me, offered me a drink or hugs. This temporary city in the middle of the Black Rock desert made me understand what I could live without. Possessions, jobs and personalities did not mean a thing. No-one cared who you were or what you wore. People mattered.

In 2004 we experienced four hurricanes–Charley, Jeanne, Frances and Ivan. Charley took out our 14,000 sq. ft. clubhouse, 1,000 trees on our 36-hole course, five out-buildings, and blew the pump on one course, which we lost. The other three finished us off.  It took six weeks to get the trees off the course and open the doors again, but life was never the same. We had a mobile kitchen and operated from a huge tent until moving back into the original 1971 building. Our home was damaged, but we could offer refuge in our makeshift kitchen by stretching salvaged screening around our carport, decked out with the ice-machine and commercial grill that survived.

For weeks we worked 12 hours a day and at the end of the day, ate the leftovers from the club, drank the wine and beer and shared all with neighbors. What we gained was strength, humor, camaraderie with neighbors and help from volunteers who came from hours away to help us. We had no power for 15 days. Generators powered the fridge and the washing machine. I hung laundry out for four families in 95 degree heat, but others shared their pools and helped us pick up debris. There was such great community and goodwill from this sharing and caring. People mattered.

When this whole lockdown is over, I believe the world will be different. Kids are using their imaginations. Parents are practicing patience. Families are eating dinners together and playing games. Medicine is being practiced tele-medically. Businesses are learning new methods of service. Socializing has new meaning with online parties and social media has kept us laughing with humor during dark times. People are coming together in community to help those in need, because people matter.

Those who lose their jobs will have life-style changes they never anticipated. I have no illusions that our children will be paying the price financially for a long time, and that our retirement will also be affected. But, as an eternal optimist, I believe there will be silver linings to these dark clouds and that the world will reinvent itself. Faith, family, friends and hope is my wish for all of you.

Happy New Year!

Published on by Kathy Baker

I “kinda” miss those fun posts and stories from all my Maqua girls. My camping experiences at Burningman were posted after the fact. (Post camping, but the memories were vivid.) Once the stories from campers and staff ended, I probably could have kept on going with interviews from other women, but as one camper so aptly stated, “YOU HAVE TO STOP SOMEWHERE!” (She was so eager for the book to come out and her name will remain a secret–Nancy, you know who you are.)

I am on Facebook with so many of the girls I interviewed and many have become such great friends. This week Randi Wynne-Parry will visit me in Florida. It is so fun meeting the women who left their joy in the walls of my summer home, for I believe I can still hear their voices. The stories continue and the relationships evolve. All of you have brought a wonderful dimension to my life. There were some who were annoyed at me for their own reasons, but as my editor said, “Where there is controversy, there is readership”, so I accepted the good with the bad.

Having sold our golf business and home in Florida, life has become a simpler life and I am enjoying it. We are living in our guest house for the time being and enjoying the ability to lock it and leave to visit family and friends. Soon, our Michigan golf course will be a business of the past. Retirement has been lovely! My husband and I worked together for over 45 years and still enjoy being together, so I guess that makes us a rare breed of marriage material.

This past summer was a family summer. Our children grew up on Loon Lake in the lodge with mixed feelings of leaving their friends in Florida for the entire summer. Now that they are grown with families of their own, they wonder why their appreciation was not greater. We, as parents, are grateful that they realize what a treasure this little slice of heaven in Hale is. We managed to get 99% of our brood together for one day this summer, but many of them spent a month. Many new memories were made with our children and grandchildren.

Every once in a while I get a message from a previous camper who will be passing through the area, wondering if they can stop to say hello. I am always happy to host a little tour, but only if they promise to bring me a slice of their happy memories of summers at Camp Maqua.

I wish you and yours the best in 2020. Thank you for always sharing your memories of this happy place!

Camp Envy–Closing up

Published on by Kathy Baker

I have mixed reactions this time of the year. I love the autumn in Michigan and with my newly-retired husband by my side all summer, we have decided to visit the fall color in the upper peninsula, which is a first for us both. But, with the temperatures getting colder and the lodge with no heat, it means time to pack up and head south. The porch and lawn furniture have to be cleaned; linens laundered and stored; food emptied from the pantry and fridge; screens covered to keep the snow from damaging the floors; bulbs planted and covered and water shut off to keep the pipes from freezing.

The upper dormers and windows, plus the tall east and west sides of the building were painted last year. This summer my hubby finished the rest, with the help of his cousins’ from Texas, who took time out of their vacation to scrape and paint some trim. The project list will never run out, as the roof leaked this summer and ruined our front porch ceiling. “Next summer”, says he–next summer’s project to install new wood ceilings and fans with lights for the hot summer nights playing Euchre.

The leaves are turning color and dropping on the trail of our morning walks. All the foliage is turning brown. By the lake, seaweed is washing up to shore and with very little boat traffic or children swimming, the water is crystal clear. We have chores to do to in the boathouse with all the inflatables and toys and picnic tables to store for the winter. The boat will be taken out of the water and refurbished with new seats for next summer’s fun.

One of my neighbors gave me an old camp bench, presumably used in the craft hut with the interior colored with paint spills. The original rusty hinges are still on the lid, which lifts up. I bleached the old wood and gave it a new look with chalkboard paint to store my grandkids’ crafts and supplies. Our sons’ also built a fire pit on the front lawn, so the younger kids could be heard when the adults are still up. Along with little projects like this, the garden was hacked back to ready for the snow and the totem pole will be stored. Hut one is cleaned, wood ants are sprayed and it is locked up to keep the hunters from using it as a deer blind. Goodbye summer, hello winter. See you in the spring.

 

 

Silver Burners–Bringing Our Friends and Family

Published on by Kathy Baker

Aside from my beautiful daughters, Dawn and Brooke (and her husband Gage), whose presence were the most delightful bonus to my Burningman experience–traveling with my friend Teri added to the depth of the week. She was easy and fun, and at any moment of reflection or observation added wisdom to any situation. She was the best companion in terms of going with the flow and at the end of the week, we both laughed at her statement “you did not annoy me one bit”. We merged with ease into a camp whose main goal was to house people who were not partying all day and night, so we had a peaceful camp.

I personally tucked into my belongings many sentimental tokens, pieces of clothing, bits of ribbons and jewelry that friends had given me. My funny friend Margo’s necklace and a bracelet adorned my white outfit, and Claire’s woven ribbons graced my hair. (Claire was a graduate of fashion design from the School of Art Institute of Chicago). I wanted to have a little of her creations with me. Lydia’s crocheted ribbon necklace added color to my colorful bathing suit. My daughter-in-law Liz gave me an antique blue bead necklace. I hung a chain filled with my father’s Army dog tag, his jingle bell from his Santa slippers, my mother’s silver cross, my Ya-Ya’s Irish friendship charm, my husband’s initialed key chain, my Kilt pin, and the “Trust” engraved bracelet I gave my best friend Molly to wear as she endured years of chemo.

Around my neck, I wore the prayer beads I had assembled for the best friend of my life over eight years ago. They were beaded with meaning. In between the beads, I strung charms and tokens. My mother-in-law also wove a piece of her wedding headdress on the long colorful string, remembering Molly with fondness. Her children returned the beads after her passing and I wondered what would I do with them? The temple at Burningman seemed an appropriate place to bring them. I felt like I had taken Molly to Burningman with me and wondered if she enjoyed the experience as much as I had. Teri and I rode our bikes out to the temple at 8:00 but were too late to enter. They had closed it an hour before, readying it for the burn that night, but had emissaries to carry the messages to loved ones or items for the altar. I watched as a tall young man slowly and reverently carried the beads into the large wooden structure and lay them on the altar. I wept, saying goodbye to her all over again.

Teri brought her friend Tina with her. She knew there would be a time she would feel like it was right to scatter her ashes to the wind. We woke up at 4:45 one morning and rode the art car with others who gathered at the trash fence on the perimeter of the city. The sunrise was magnificent! I looked to my right at one point and Teri had wandered away by herself and quietly read her tribute and Tina left with the morning breeze under a layered sherbet sky. Tina and Teri, together again, but another goodbye.

The temple burn that night was magnificent. You could hear a pin drop. The structure reminded me of a giant Jenga game, but it is the soul of Burningman. It was created by Geordie Van Der Bosch and was named the “Temple of Direction, in the style of Japanese shrines. Lanterns decorated the interior and exterior spaces, but the walls were adorned inside and out with messages to loved ones, photos of family members and friends, and dresses and clothing. Thousands of burners sat on the ground and others were piled on art cars. Even the music stopped for the burning of the temple. Embers floated in huge pieces and hot ash filled the sky. We discovered later that there was a section that had to move because the embers were falling on them. I heard people crying out “I love you Mom” and some were weeping for their lost friends and family.

Silver Burners–Transportation

Published on by Kathy Baker

If we had only walked the 7-square mile city of Burningman and not biked or rode the art car, we would have thrown out more than two pairs of boots. We hiked back from the Playa one night, under the stars, after hitching a ride on our friend’s art car. Walking meant you could actually make personal contact with the multitude of camps. One morning I got up early, opened up my parasol and took a walkabout around section 4:30, meeting my neighbors and grabbing hugs along the way. It was the perfect way to pass out my journals!

Having a bike was a necessity, but it also was a refreshing return to childhood. Teri was on a regular bike and I was on a three-wheeled tricycle. I had to relearn how to ride the darn thing! I hopped on and it kept turning right. I panicked, thinking to myself if I cannot master this, I am in big trouble. Brooke hopped on and did fine, but one of our campmates finally figured out why I was having such a tough time. (Aside from riding one-handed.) I was trying to balance and she instructed me to act like it was a car and just steer. It was all I needed to hear.

Our bikes were tricked out with lights, lanterns, and baskets. There are no rules of the road at Burningman. People are from all over the world and other countries drive on the left, while we drive on the right. In the desert bikes just pedaled wherever they wanted, so lights were essential at night to be seen. (They were also essential as a pedestrian if you did not want to be run over by an art car or bike.)

We had bike locks. Should we do keys or combination locks? We decided on combos, worrying we would lose the key. Gage took a large marker and wrote my 4-number combo on my right arm, in case I forgot. (Branded like a heifer:) Why do we need a bike lock, I asked, and was told that drunk or high peeps may think that your bike is their bike and just wander off with it, and how would you find your bike in a city of 80,000? 90% of unlocked bikes are stolen!

The desert roads in the city started out rock-hard, but as the city grew and traffic increased, the bike paths became rutted and tough to ride. Teri and I moaned as we jostled along the pothole paths, whining about saddle-sore butts and tough pedaling. (The tricycle was even tougher than the regular bike.) We finally caught on to the fact if we rode all the way to the right, it was easier to ride. Biking on the Playa was smoother still, but other areas that experienced more dust storms were like riding in talcum powder. (This was not a sand desert, but alkaline dust.) If you blew a tire or lost a chain, there were camps that repaired for free, but thankfully ours never failed us.

We loved the fact that our new friend with his art car liked hanging in “Camp Nailed-It” and enjoyed ferrying us out to the art installations. We enjoyed the sunrise, sunset and various parties as we motored out on his invention. It meant we could ride, view more art and people watch as we passed bikers and pedestrians. We met new friends, as they hopped aboard the musical vehicle and it was a nice spot to sit while we watched the burning of the Burningman and the temple burn Many of the art cars were works of whimsy or moving discotheques with techno blasting from their lit vehicles. Others were floating bars offering free shots of whiskey chased by pickle juice or alcoholic slushies.

We saw many abandoned bikes as we packed up to leave. Leave no trace is one of the ten Burningman principles and it shocked us to hear thousands and thousands of bikes are left behind. Instead of heading to a landfill, groups collect them, repair and refurbish and resell them back to burners the next year.