We came back to Canada at the end of March, anticipating a warm and early spring – as predicted by our national weather forecaster, the groundhog.
So, while I prepared for our trip home by wearing jeans and sneakers with a jacket handy, hubby boarded wearing shorts and sandals. To be fair, the man did change into long pants during one of our short lay-overs, but the sandals were definitely out of place when we landed in a snowstorm.
I’d love to say that things got better from there.
However, despite eager visits to our trailer in order to prepare her for a move into a campground, the weather gods were not in our favour. For an entire month the temperatures rarely smiled their way up above downright chilly. We removed the snowtires from the truck late in April, not at all confident that we’d seen the last of the snow.
Indeed, two days later we were pelted with cold and icy missiles from the sky. This was not what we had hoped for.
Upon our return to our lovely country, we had researched and then debated the best spot to camp in while waiting for our seasonal site down on the shores of Lake Ontario to become available. We decided on Kingston, as we had enjoyed the year-round campground there before leaving in the fall. A phone reservation was made and another visit to the trailer. After a couple of hours, we were still unable to warm up the inside of the trailer to above double digits. When you have to wear a coat and gloves inside to do the sorting and repacking, your heart just isn’t in it. Hubby started a repair on an outside vent, but was unable to finish it. The caulking was so hard in the tube it could not be pushed out. And probably wouldn’t have adhered to our aluminum shell, anyway.
It was so bad that when it snowed on the day we had reserved
to be in Kingston, we called and postponed our arrival. We just couldn’t work
up the enthusiasm for the move. Our metal baby was destined to stay under wraps
for the time being, and our wings were temporarily clipped.
I suppose it would have been a good time to jump back on a
plane or grab a cruise, if we hadn’t just renewed our provincial health card
after a 2 year hiatus. They really expect you to stick around for a few months
just to prove that you live here. So instead, I did what any smart woman would do
after spending two years glued to the side of her husband: I had the
opportunity to send him away to earn some money, and I grabbed it. It’s a win-win
situation. I get some time to myself, and I’ll have extra money to spend. What’s
not to like? In fact, if I can keep him working for the entire summer season,
so much the better. Fall will follow eventually and our travel plans will pick
back up.
Summer is four months long, so maybe by then I will have had enough “me”
time to look forward to our California dreaming next winter.
W
