Patio Tales

Evenings at camp are for relaxing.

We return from our day of labor hot and dirty. I park my plaster dusted shoes in a box and head for the shower. Supper follows, then devotion, and free time. I could work on the puzzle over on the table. No, my mind doesn’t need a challenge.

Flip. Flop. Ooops! The tiny step on the wooden slat walkway trips me. Literally. So much for a quiet, unnoticed entrance to the group gathered on the “patio”. Oustide of the men’s bunkroom they’ve claimed a space at the foot of the metal stairway to the upstairs – unused this week. I find a place to sit, sip my soda, and listen.

“What’s that?”     “Where?”     “Over there, on the outside window ledge?”

“Looks like a possum.” Two of our group go over to investigate.

The critter ambles along the ledge away from them pausing to look into the bunkroom used by the Catholic boys this week. He was a small one — well, maybe half grown. Moved the fastest I’ve seen one go — but then, they aren’t known for speed.

Our conversation returns to the topic at hand. Which one was that? The recent sports results? Possible solutions to problems that arose on the projects? How many oysters to buy for take home?