Day 2: Wanting Someone to Grow Old With  − 4 September, 2005

This story follows An Unexpected Turn of Events, in which I found myself unexpectedly on vacation alone instead of with my husband.

Although I awoke early, I continued to luxuriate in sleep for a few more hours.  Upon rising, I noticed that my lone female neighbor had packed up to leave. I looked for her among the trees of the campground and spotted her down the road. I moseyed over, hoping to talk.  She looked like she was in her fifties.  We spoke of camping and of travel. She had traveled from New Mexico to Greenland and then Ottawa to visit her brother.  I explained my situation in a much better humor than I'd felt the previous day.

She'd had a lot of experience being alone since her husband had left her when their daughter was an infant. I liked her a lot and regretted that she was leaving today. I admired her independence. I could envision myself doing the things she has done. I have had to imagine what life would be like on my own again many times.  My new friend was 74, but looked decades younger to me. I chalked it up to her healthy lifestyle, which includes yoga.

Plans for the Day

I felt relaxed and optimistic about my solo vacation. I planned to visit Drummond Island today and to camp one more night at this campground. I hoped that someone friendly would move into my departing neighbor’s site and that we could strike up a conversation.

I wanted to visit Drummond Island because my husband had been talking about buying a cottage up north for several years.  My friend Matt had talked up Drummond Island. He'd told me that there was reasonably priced property for sale.  My husband and I had planned to check it out together.

Talking with My Husband

On the way out of the area I phoned my husband again. He was feeling OK. He mentioned vague notions of taking the train to Chicago for a few days. He had "not been doing anything he didn't want to do". He had no plans to join me this week.  He was, however, thinking of coming up to the area where we would rent a cottage next week and camping the night before the cottage was available. I said that maybe I could meet him there, but at this point everything we'd discussed was couched with "maybe".

As we talked about what had happened to our vacation together, I made a comment about him not liking camping. He retorted snippily (I thought) that I could think that if I wanted to, but that it wasn't what he'd said. I took umbrage at the tone and content of his remark. I understood that he was trying to tell me something, but I did not like his method one bit.

My mood began to sink once more. After we hung up I felt considerably less cheerful and optimistic about the day. On the road again, I began to wonder at the wisdom of calling him again anytime soon if it were going to make me feel so bad. I'd already had my first day of vacation utterly ruined. Since I was having trouble shaking my mood, it was beginning to look like this day might not be so bright either.

To Drummond Island

The drive to the Island took about one and a half hours on two-lane country roads. The landscape was pastoral. I did not think I would be able to catch a ferry until 2:40. As I neared the ferry port I scoured the area for places to visit while I waited.  My spirits lifted as I observed several public beaches. Unexpectedly I was able to catch a ferry not long after I arrived at the dock. The ferry ride was short, only one mile. There were only about ten cars on this 38-vehicle vessel. As we neared shore I observed that there were many more than 10 vehicles waiting to return to the mainland. Several trailers would eat up a good bit of space. I worried a bit about not being able to catch the return ferry I'd want to catch.

I'd scanned the wrinkled Island guide I'd gotten from Matt for campgrounds. Most were commercial grounds, which usually meant lots of trailers, which isn't much fun for tent campers. State Park camping appeared to be available, so I planned to locate and view the campground while I was there. Even if we had a cottage, I'd still want to be able to camp if the urge struck me.

Exploring Drummond

My first stop was the visitor center at the Four Corners. The visitor center woman seemed to know everything there was to know about camping on the island. She described all of the areas available in detail, scribbling notations on a map. I figured I would only have time to explore one area, so I chose the road up to Glen Cove. She had said that there was beach camping there and camp sites all along the road in.  I was pleased to hear that "99% of the island was dog-friendly" and that it was a buyer's market. I began feeling excited about my upcoming adventure. As I drove I noticed that some folks coming the other way waved, indicating that the Island was a friendly place.

However, after exploring the island for several hours, I could tell that it wasn’t my kind of place.  It was an excellent place for people who liked off-road sports and who drive big trucks and like to camp in trailers.  But it was not a good place for people who like long, quiet hikes through the woods and camping in rustic campgrounds.  Everyone I’d encountered was exceedingly friendly and polite.  Perhaps there were other island-dwellers who shared my interests.  But the continent of North America is large enough that I was pretty sure I could find a location better suited to my interests.

Retreating in Disappointment

I was quite disappointed in the island. I wouldn't want to have a cottage here. I doubted that I would ever return. I felt like my day had been wasted, even though I knew that the only way to learn that Drummond Island wasn't for me was to visit.

I also began to remember my hurt at my husband’s snippy remark earlier in the day, and my mood sank further. This had just been one of many snippy remarks in the course of our five-year marriage. I had never handled these remarks well. Lately I'd thought I ought to be able to just brush them off, but my skin had not ever grown any thicker.  I went to a bad place mentally after that. It is the place people sometimes go when they are too angry with someone to think rationally.

On the drive back I drove very fast, wanting to get it over with and get back to my campsite. I wanted to have my dinner and then sit on the beach, hopefully enjoying it this time around. I missed a turn and got lost, however. After getting some directions, I sped back to my camp ground, hoping to arrive in time to catch the sunset.

On the Beach

Tonight's visit to the beach did not feel sad and lonely. But I did not feel good about my husband, and I dwelled on the most negative aspects of our marriage. I wondered how other people, married for decades, did it. I wanted to interview people my parents' age to learn what the secret was. I knew that I wanted to grow old with someone; I just did not know whether that person would be my husband.

Somehow, approaching my fortieth birthday, thoughts of growing old with someone did not seem unreasonable. Although we did not have children, I was approaching an age at which many people's children left home for college. Not long after follow the years when the married people are alone with one another again for the first time in decades.  I saw older couples holding hands and walking along the beach together; sitting together, eating together. I wanted that, too.

A Welcome Distraction

Interrupting my unpleasant musings, an Eastern European couple entered the beach. The man was tanned and virile, but the woman did not match him in womanly beauty. He waded far out into the water and finally swam. I'd had no idea the water was so shallow so far out. Three male companions soon joined them. All three men swam, one of them running and tripping into the water laughing hilariously. "That", I thought, "is the way to do it".

I rolled up the hems of my jeans and waded in, but I couldn't do much without getting wet. So I discarded notions of keeping my clothing dry and waded in until my jeans were soaked. The water was completely clear. The sandy bottom was beautifully rippled, mesmerizing me.  The sky and water had shifted from a uniformly soft blue to an intense blue and pink. Several kayakers paddled off in the distance. They, too, held my attention for a long time. I wanted to glide across this glassy, brightly colored surface as they did.

My Circle of Light

Back at the site I tried to get a fire started, but I had a very difficult time. The fire kept going out and generated more smoke than it should have. I realized that, although the person from whom I'd bought the wood took special pains to help me pick out a "dry" bunch of wood, my wood was too wet. I gave up on the fire and moved onto other things, but before long the fire revived itself and I had a nice little blaze (but not a "white man's fire").

I heated some dinner and ate by the fire. Off in the distance I could hear the sounds of merrymaking. I knew these sounds had to be coming from the five Eastern Europeans I'd seen earlier. Their campsite was in the direction from which the sound emanated. They'd looked like people who knew how to have a good time. I enjoyed their party vicariously.

After all my trouble starting the fire, that fire outlasted me. I wanted to sit up with it as long as I could. I enjoyed the enclosed feeling the fire created by casting flickering light on the trees around me. The warmth felt good as the temperature dropped. I had such trouble starting fires it seemed like a shame to waste even a little bit of this one. But the hour grew late and I was so sleepy I slept shortly after crawling into my tent.