Impressions (6/2)

When I walked into my room today, a few things caught my eye: there was an alarm clock and a small desk lamp, and a mattress cover sitting, pristine is its plastic, on my new full sized bed. These things were convenient and well appreciated, yet I laughed aloud and heartily when I saw the deep woods bug spray sitting on my empty desk.

Up until this point, I had all but figured that my summer would be an interesting one, but it wasn't until I sat on the front porch and watched my new bunkmates drive gravel, chunks of ice, and whatever else they could get their golfclubs on into the woods that I realized my summer would be more  than promising and adventurous, it would be lasting and fun.

The bunk house is nice! Nicer than my dorm room at school, but I guess that actually makes my standards pretty low. Really, it's nice. Before setting up my new room, my supervisor took Ocie and me to Walmart. Everything was so cheap, I have seriously missed the widespread reach of that capitalist giant. Anyway, it was daunting, tomorrow I'll make a list of groceries to buy. I'll probably need more than strawberries and cucumber to get me through the next few weeks.

However, these things are rather insignificant in context and relation to that nervous thrill I felt when we drove by that government brown sign, the one that reminded me comfortingly of the brown siding and roofs of the buildings on the airforce bases I grew up on. The sign that indicated the our entering onto the National Wildlife Refuge and the sign that  ultimately indicated the start of something novel and curious.

Today I noticed greens and browns and golds. My new sheets are the color of Egyptian sands in the springtime, not unlike the light mocha of the tall grasses across from our bunkhouse. The greens are bright and varied, free of the careful hand of any landscaper, free from the confining regulations of the suburbs.

When I called home, I sat outside and noticed the subtle tones of my skin. Sitting in the setting sun, it was hot, but dry, and I could feel my skin soaking in the heat, drinking the air and light. I am browning, turning from the Vassar-induced white washed olive to the beginning hints of the golden brown coat I often wear in the summer time.

With my emerging summer skin, and the slow awakening of my mind and body, I am overly eager to begin and explore. I want a bike. I want my bike, a familiar black thing that's almost as old as I am. When I pictured that bike, I imagined the passing of gravel and old logging roads beneath my tread. I recalled the deep fuchsia mountain bike I rode all everywhere as a kid, learning every cranny and secret my new home had to offer. I will do the same here, and I am confident in the notion that I will make this place, this piece of land, my own.