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Winfield My
husband already made a large pot of chili, which we will reheat on the
Coleman stove and we have a loaf of zucchini bread which we will enjoy
with our strong campfire coffee. The weather this year is gorgeous with
bright blue sky and about 70 degrees. This bodes well since in years
past we have started out in pouring rain. We
have decided to pick up our youngest son, Chris after his fifth hour
class and get an early start for the 3 1/2-hour trip to Winfield in
hopes that we will arrive in daylight and be able to find where all
of our friends are camped. This is the first year that we will be leaving
our 17-year-old son at home alone to take care of the house and dog.
This is just another form of letting go of control that I have to learn. To
me Winfield is a kind of Brigadoon in that it shows up for about four
or five days in September and then it's gone. I always love the drive
through the Flint Hills and I lose myself in their expansive, yet understated
beauty. We have been listening to a tape of "Harry Potter,"
but now we have grown tired of it and I allow myself to lean my forehead
against the passenger side window, and day dream about riding a horse
bare back through the Flint Hills and then just lying down in the lush
grass. I begin to wonder about the geological formation that might have
caused such beautiful rolling hills. I only indulge in this for 20 or
so minutes and then my mind is back on where we are going. There
is a building excitement the days before the trip every year. I'm sorry
to say though that it has become more difficult each year to maintain
this excitement due to my disability. Now instead of staying in a tent
in the lively campground amongst all of our friends, we have to reserve
a room at a nearby motel. Because it isn't like it used to be when I
was more mobile, I'm afraid that we may decide the effort is too great
to make the trip. However my son's excitement is so contagious that
we somehow manage to make it and have a wonderful time. Chris is 12
years old and looks forward to meeting up with his cousin and other
friends and is given a kind of freedom that he never seems to know while
he's at home. We meet up with the same people each year in a little
commune of musicians from all over different parts of Kansas, and in
some cases this is the only time we ever see them each year. My sister
always goes, so my son gets to camp out with his cousin while we go
to the motel. Chronic
illness has had to make us figure out how to make this wonderful experience
happen each year. My husband bears the brunt of all of the work so I
try to let him know that it is up to him when it becomes too much. I
know that if we stayed home it would be very depressing so we always
push ourselves to get it done. This year as we pull into the Fair Grounds
where thousands of people already had their tents set up, hear our tires
crunching on the gravel road that will lead to our campsite. The smell
of the campfire smoke the sounds of the campers picking out tunes on
their mandolins, banjos and guitars make my heart fill with familiar
anticipation. We make our way around the Fair Grounds to a special area
called the Pecan Grove which is where we know that our group of friends
have set up camp a full week and a half earlier. The first thing we
see is a yellow canoe banner that marks our destination. The next welcome
sight is my sister's car and her tent and we can see that she has saved
us a spot to put our van. By this time I have been sitting in my wheelchair
in the van for about three-and-half-hours and I'm tired and my butt
is sore! Once we have parked and we get me out I decide that I would
like to just sit down cross-legged on the grass in my bare feet and
just feel the earth beneath me. My sister and my husband lower me to
the ground and I visit with her and listen to my brother-in-law, my
husband and a man we only know as English Bob play banjos. I lean back
against my scooter, close my eyes and just take in the smells and sounds
of Winfield. There is a gentle breeze that kisses my face and a train
that runs about three or four blocks away from us periodically blowing
its warning. My sister offers a glass wine, which I readily accept and
as I sit there taking in the welcoming atmosphere I feel totally relaxed
and home. |
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