Inland, Dreaming of Waves

OK!

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Written from Keystone State Park, west of Tulsa on the Arkansas River, Oklahoma

I have a campsite with a view of the river/Keystone Lake. It's very cool. There are showers here—for the RV crowd, I imagine, but us campers can enjoy them too.

It was raining when I put up the tent. I didn't feel like sleeping in the truck, though. It's been nice to sit here in my tent and work, though my hamstrings are really cramping from all the driving and then this extended sitting in a rather awkward position (in my blue camp chair, holding a laptop).

Last night I stayed at Dorothy’s house. She had bought me two bouquets of roses, shrimp cocktail, strawberries, and I don’t know what else. Dor said she wanted to put a chocolate on my pillow, but she wasn’t able to get one.

Her roommate had done some work on the house and rearranged the living room. I liked the new arrangement and the wood floors. The schnauzer was as hyper as ever, but he is really a nice dog. I like the way all her neighbors have chain link fences. You can see into everyone’s yard (and kitchen, if you really want to. Of course, I would never use my birding binoculars for such nefarious purposes).

After I got all packed, which takes a while, what with binoculars, scope, tripod, dry food, cooler food, road atlases, piles of papers I picked up along the way or will need, clothes, and any camping gear I brought in the house, I drove to my friend Cathy’s house. She is the person I’ve been friends with longest, since middle school sometime.

She made me coffee and an English muffin and we sat in her house and talked about mutual friends and family and her kids. Cathy was babysitting three children until the end of the school year to pay for new blinds for her kitchen (it has a lot of windows). Her oldest daughter took them to the park so we could be alone for a while. While they were at the park, they collected things in white paper bags and then came back and drew them. Then we played Mr. Potato Head while sitting on child-sized chairs in Cathy’s basement. Another friend of hers came over.

I learned something about myself today and about Cathy. Cathy takes care of everyone and seems to like it. She doesn't seem to be oppressed by it—I guess she's willing to say no when she has to. I felt so happy being around her and being gently mocked by her. Especially when she said, “I hate people,” when I was complaining about all the unmannerly river rafters on the Colorado River last Labor Day. I wonder if I swore in front of her three “little people” or was being too vehement for them. When I was leaving I felt sad and wanted to spend more time with her.

Cathy told me to go to the Arboretum, but when I was trying to find Highway 69, I couldn't get to it, so I just took 169 instead. It was amusing driving past one closed entrance ramp and taking a detour that led me to 169. I decided that meant I wasn't supposed to go to the Arboretum, so I just went straight down the highway.

There seem to be a lot of memorial highways in this part of the world: Martin Luther King Highway and Pearl Harbor Memorial Highway.

On the way to Oklahoma I saw “Miss Molly’s Cottage,” which I took a picture of for Cathy, and a sign for Greeley, Kansas (there’s a Greeley in Colorado northeast of Boulder). At Big Hill Creek, as I sped toward the bridge, a great blue heron soared over the road and down the creek. It was so graceful.

In Coffeyville, KS, I stopped at the Brown Mansion, which was supposed to be a tourist information center, but it was closed.

Finally I saw a sign that says, “Leaving Kansas” and then another that says “Entering Cherokee Nation.” I had always wondered why I couldn’t find any Indian reservations on the Oklahoma map, when it used to be Indian Territory. Thanks to this postcard, I know: it’s all Indian reservation, Except for a few areas, apparently.

And what is a Cherokee Outlet, anyway?

I couldn’t find the private campground I was looking for at the intersection of Highways 169 and 412, so I pulled over and looked at the atlas. That’s how I found this campground, and I’m really glad I did. I am just about the only camper, but there are lots of RVs. A man came around and collected my $8 fee.

The roads in Oklahoma, and especially Tulsa, seemed quite neglected. Big cracks and potholes. I don’t know if it’s the weather or the budget, but they need to do some major road repair.

posted by Price of Silence @ 10:41 PM