Embrace where you live for a happy life

Because our friends said we could, we are camped back in a little mowed glade on their property — enjoying the jump from summer to autumn in our travel trailer.

Forest encloses us on three sides in a "U," with the open end looking toward their construction a hundred yards off. We were out here a week ago to watch a big crane lift their “temporary” house onto its high foundation — an entire story tall — at the base of a hillside.

All the prep work had been done — the house reinforced — but always that question, “Will it hold together?” It did — and I learned how a crane does its fascinating job. It will be years probably before the dream home happens — its place already cleared, with a view of the meadow backed by a steep treed mountainside.

A black bear and her two cubs were in that meadow two days ago. She made her way through the woods in the direction of our camp. The squirrels set up a crazy chatter. Wherever she meandered we haven't seen her since.

Our friends work long days in the “metropolises” of Sandpoint and Priest River. I have a meal ready when they return. Last evening it was spaghetti. We balanced the garlic bread slices on the roasting forks, toasting them over the propane flame of our outdoor fireplace. None of us want a campfire in the still dry forest. But this pedestal stove makes a nice safe flame on a dark night.

Today the wind is ruffling the trees. The sun is shining. The quiet is its own sound. I am glad to be alive — to be still camping in the last trimester of September. Grateful for the generosity of friends to allow us this woodland cubbyhole.

Just before we set up camp out here I received a card in the mail from a woman in Florida. She thanked me for words I'd written in an inspirational book dating back to 2008. I was dumbfounded. She'd been rereading the annual books and found my thought on “embracing where I live.”

We'd moved from Alaska to Minnesota when someone asked if I missed the mountains. I answered they were in my memory and I could bring them out anytime and look at them. I went on to say that Minnesota wasn't made to have mountains. Instead it had huge oak trees and eye-catching old barns and a golden corn harvest, booming thunder and an imposing sky above open farmland that stretched forever.

This woman was having some trouble adjusting to her new life in the Sunshine State — never mind she could see the space rocket launches from her driveway! The words she read about appreciating how a place is — and not looking for something it's not — had encouraged her.

It's the secret for living anywhere. Our idyllic little campout can only last so long. That's how North Idaho is. It's where I am and it takes me where it will. Why not go with it — make it a companionable journey.

In the meantime, tonight we're having grilled elk steaks beside our “fake” fire.