10 July 2009

Our Life at the Riverworld

Our service at Camp Caroline saw summer seasons passing, and having opportunities to enjoy the many people, young and old.  We enjoyed seeing new faces, remembering those from previous years and witnessing the young people arriving as they jubilantly greeted their old friends and made room in their hearts for new.

We were blessed with dedicated summer staff who worked hard to make certain the summer programs ran smoothly.  At the close of each summer camping season, our hearts were saddened with the thought of these young people leaving us, but at the same time, felt an excitement for them as they entered another phase of their lives.

The dolphins frequently graced us with their presence and the mosquitoes were ever faithful in their attempt to hold us hostage.  After the last of the summer campers left, our weekends were sometimes busy, and in preparation for weekend groups, Richard and I would put the boat in the water and run it up the creek a short distance, to see if the Osprey’s nest, which we had found earlier in the summer, was still occupied.  We would catch sight of a Great Blue Heron flying further up the creek from the marsh.

During our time living at the Riverworld, a very important member of the Stevens’ family died; one morning Brandy was hit by a vehicle just before Joel left for school.  It appeared that she died instantly.  She had enjoyed herself here, and had just taken up sailing on one of the small catamarans (with someone with her of course!).  She loved to greet us with a pinecone in her mouth while wagging her whole body.  Her absence was acute for quite some time.

In the fall, the Riverworld would become quieter and we looked forward to that, and to the changing leaf colours.  The fog would lay heavy over the river and bare cotton fields, and while some fields had been fully cleared in readiness for the next crop or to lie fallow, most still would bear witness to the cotton plants already harvested.  A few bales would wait patiently to be transported to the gin, but all along the roadside a scattered trail of bolls lay and would lie for quite some time.

Cindy B. Stevens

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