It’s camping season. Our season is short here in the North Country, so my advice is do it now and do it often.
Our two weeks in Cole’s Creek will be here before we know it, and we’ll relish every golden moment on the beautiful St. Lawrence River. But lately, there is a new “stitch in our gitalong,” as my late mother used to say. We miss Morrisonville every time we leave it.
Friends near and far know how much we cherish our home on the Saranac River and have for decades. The corner of our enclosed deck is a scant three feet from the river bank. At this time of year, my day starts at or before 5 a.m. with a steaming hot cup of black coffee. I crank up my computer to let people know the temperature and sky conditions.
We look through the windows all winter, longing for the first day when we can don our jackets and move out here to watch the sun and the wildlife rise. I no longer fill 15 bird feeders as in the past. We now have four, filled with sunflower seed hanging from the fence along with a hummingbird feeder nearby.
Kaye makes the sweet nectar by boiling water and sugar in a mixture of 4 to 1. The tiny hummers love it and stick their long bills in for a sip every few seconds all day long.
Our raised gardens are thriving with tomatoes, green peppers, cucumbers, string beans and onions ready for harvest in no time. Keeping the rabbits, woodchucks and birds out is a challenge. So far, so good.
Our kids from Ohio came to visit and slept in the camper parked in the driveway. It has all the comforts of home and they loved it.
Kaye and I will now pick up our ditty bags and clean underwear and haul the trailer over familiar roads to Waddington. Yes, we’re getting to the point where we hate to leave this idyllic spot on the Saranac, but we love it when we get there. It’s only 92 miles away and everything is so familiar, it seems like we never left as we drive to our campsite.