And so it came to pass that the tenth month of the 2009th year was upon us. And with that, the peoples of the land known as Wisconsin began their preparations for the frigid months looming on the horizon of time that years of experience told them awaited. It was a bittersweet period for the Northwoods, as the land was often described. The waning light of morning and evening was unwelcome to many, though a few appreciated the increased darkness. More than that, however, the enjoyers of warm weather were once again facing the dreaded period of cold that was to come.
However, even with the many that would prefer summer warmth, one had to acknowledge to beauty of the current landscape. Early October was the peak time of color on the landscape. a mosaic of yellow, orange, red, and green – of varying brightness and hue, often within the same tree – decorated the view of the attentive observer. One could not help but see the symbolism of one’s own life in the very transition of these different seasons. But, just as the stark reality of death was not looked forward to by most, neither would a cold and harsh winter. And as beautiful and lovely as the early years of retirement may be for an aging man, everyone knew what was to come in future years.
Except for the skiiers and snowshoers. They were just goofy.
With the move from summer to fall came preparation. Many would be canning food from the harvest of their gardens. Others would roll out what the natives referred to as “plastic” to cover the windows on their homes. Others were once again getting accustomed to submitting weekly Fantasy Football lineups. The work never stopped.
One such man had an additional responsibility. His was the labor of driving up to the northern extremities of this strange land – a “state” in the country’s vernacular – in order to engage in a ritual of sorts. This strange ritual was called “closing down the camper” for the season.
This faraway place had been a refuge to which he and his family could go to escape the din of work and life. It had served its purpose, but now the cold was coming. A camper would be no place of refuge during the winter months, after all. It was not built for that sort of thing. No, pink fluid would now fill the pipes to ensure proper storage, the electrical lines and water hoses disconnected, all the extra accessories put safely away, and the awning rolled up.
And so he traveled. It was a difficult journey, through the Land of Road Construction, and a little-known oasis that needed to be used for personal purposes and the acquisition of a Salted Nut Roll and Water. But despite the hardship and obstacles, there would be no failure. No denying him of his responsibility. And so he persevered, and after nearly 3 long hours, he arrived at his ultimate destination, where…
“That can’t be good,” he lamented, as he secured the parking brake on the small slope in front of the camper.
Where there was once an awning was.. nothing? No, not nothing. Just not a secured awning.
It was readily apparent that a strong storm or wind had demonstrated its dominance over the metal arms and canvass structure of what used to be an awning. Twisted and broken metal lay in the wake of the remains, while the awning itself had been blow to the roof of the structure.
Anyway, that’s my long-winded way of saying “My freakin’ awning was torn apart on my camper.” It sucks. The metal arm smashed in the plastic vent-cover on the top, so I spent the next hour driving back in and getting the materials I needed to cover that up.
Thankfully, we had insurance, and it looks like it will get settled, but it’s really a pain to have to deal with.
A lesson to you campers – putting your awning all the way down, but not rolling it up may be fine and dandy 95% of the time, but I’m here as a witness to tell you that it ain’t foolproof. The right wind at the right speed from the right sirection will still take that thing and toss it over like it’s a kite.
Just one camper’s experience. Roll up your awning.
