Bittersweet

There are moments in everyone's lives when moving on is the best thing to do; when the sweet outweighs the bitter.  Luckily, I get to move my home with me.  My Summer Palace is going to relocate about 20 miles away in a new campground. 

I will miss the people I've met here over the years more than they will ever know.  This campground is full of young families full of life and promise.  Their energy is infectious, and I've spent many a great night at one of their campfires laughing, drinking beer, and making new friends.

My new campground is still getting up and running, and I suspect that the neighbors will be quite a bit older, since it's more expensive, and a longer-term committment.  But just like buying a house instead of living in an apartment, this feels like it's the right thing to do.  And if my employer continues to be the best employer on the face of the planet, I hope to make Minnesota my permanent home in a couple of years, so I can sell the Summer Palace and move into a year-round palace.

The new 'hood has paved roads, an indoor swimming pool, and lake access (a motorized tram takes the boat from the marina over the land to the Pelican River, which empties into Detroit Lake, Little Detroit, Muskrat, and Sallie).  Like the Jeffersons, we're "moving on up...to the east side", well it's the west side of the lake, but it's still a move up.  My brother and family are going too, so I'll still have boat time most weekends.

And I'll be much, much closer to a decent sized grocery store, a Walmart, and hair salon.  These things do matter when you live in a camper and you are desperate to get your roots touched up!

So goodbye to the film of dust over everything because the roads are unpaved.  Goodbye to ATV's speeding through the campground (they're not allowed in the new place).  Goodbye to hauling the boat in and out of the public access when we want to go on the water.

Goodbye to my flower garden - I hope to build a new one, but it won't be the same. Some of you are coming with me - I hope you survive the transplant.



And most importantly, goodbye to good friends that I've made in the years I've been here.  I'd like to say I'll visit, but we all know that 20 miles is too far to drive home after a night at the campfire.  I hope that some of you will follow us - maybe not this year, but sometime in the future.  In the meantime, I wish for you nothing but warm cloudless days where the wind is only strong enough to cool you down but leaves the water looking like glass.  I wish for you no dog poop on the sandbar, no idiots putting their boats in at the public access, and lots of good food that Tom cooks up on his fancy grill.

I will miss you all.