To the Cottage: Lunch break

We are closer now, there are fields of dandelions here, acres and acres of them. More dandelions than blades of grass, growing wild. If you were here you could see the parallel lines in dandelion growth caused by riding lawn mowers that fail to thwart the might of Mr. Dan D. Lion. Rawr!

Why is it called DandeLION? What is the etymological root of that word? I’m glad you asked.

dandelion |ˈdandlˌīən|

noun

a widely distributed weed of the daisy family, with a rosette of leaves, bright yellow flowers followed by globular heads of seeds with downy tufts, and stems containing a milky latex. • Genus Taraxacum, family Compositae: several species, in particular the common T. officinale, which has edible leaves.

ORIGIN late Middle English : from French dent-de-lion, translation of medieval Latin dens leonis ‘lion's tooth’ (because of the jagged shape of the leaves).

Who knew? I didn’t, and because you asked me for it neither did you.

There are more open fields here, this time full of wild mustard, an identical color to dandelions, but with smaller, tighter flower buds. It makes the yellow field more uniform, there are shades of yellow and green here, rather than spots of green in a mostly yellow dandelion blanket.

We just passed a campground and Gammy asked me if anybody was camping there. I had to remove my iPod because all I heard was “…camping there?”

“I didn’t catch that, what?”

“anyone camping there?” she asked. It sounded like, “you wanna go camping there?”

“Do I want to go camping there?”

“Anyone camping there?”

“I can’t make sense of what you’re saying,” I said. She had repeated herself three or more times with the same tonal inflection: this slightly nasally, slurred, manner of comfortable/familiar speaking she had been using for the last 70 years or so. I wasn't use to it and couldn't understand her, also she was talking into the windshield and I was behind her.

"She is asking you if anyone is camping at that campsite," Loo says as we approach the campsite.

I look into the campsite and don't see anyone camping. Why was this important?

"I don't see anybody camping now, no," I say wondering why she was asking me. I was humoring her, the way you do with old people when they ask some question and rather than talking to them like someone else you say, "Gosh, I'm not sure. What a GREAT question," like they are retarded but you don't want to let them know about it.

"You're supposed to guess before we get there," she said slumping her shoulders in disappointment. Whether she was disappointed from my patronizing tone or my inability to read her mind I am not sure. She shakes her head. "You can't say how many are there when we get there. You are supposed to guess BEFORE we get there. Before you can SEE." Evidently this was a monumental failure on my part, though I don't know why. I need to know why though, it's my nature.

"Why do you want to guess how many people are camping before you can see them?"

"It's a game that [Gramps] and I used to play. We'd guess how many are camping, closest number wins. We use to do it all the time on trips to the Cottage." She was quiet for awhile.

Was this the first time she had gone to the cottage since his death? It was. They had been coming up here for more years than I had been alive. A force of habit then, had caused her to ask the only man in the van how many people were camping up ahead. And being unaware of the little game had not answered the way she had grown accustomed to in the decades of trips up here. I felt guilty at first, if only I could have known the game. But the guilt shifted to something else, something far from guilt, something a little less than indignation, but not by much. It was unfair of her to get all worked up over my ignorance of their game. And rather than bring that up to her I'll put my ear buds back in and continue typing, I don't need to remind her that her husband of 60 years is gone.

We have reached a place called Coyle’s. Loo is excited. Got to go eat, bbl.

Coyles is a buffet with animals heads on the walls and wood carvings of elephants and dolphins. Both of which are probably equidistant from here. The food is country style broached chicken, taters, gravy, meatloaf, macaroni, and Frog Legs. GROSS. I kept frogs as pets when I was a kid until I was in high school, I can’t eat frogs. Talk about different strokes.