At some point this spring, when securing a job at Shenandoah National Park began to appear possible, I made a wish. Making wishes is something I rarely do these days. I tell myself that it’s because I have so little control over what will eventually transpire that I’m no longer eager to set myself up for being disappointed. Nevertheless, I gave voice to this modest one:
“I want to work at the park, and I want to say here for the summer.”
At certain times in the intervening months, this wish has vexed me as much as it has pleased me. When I agreed to work the job, for instance, it was with the understanding that the entrance station I’d be staffing was approximately 70 miles away from my apartment. A certain admixture of hope and delusion were at play as I considered solutions such staying at what turned out to be a mountain man’s squat just beyond the park boundary and later camping in the park’s campgrounds. It wasn’t long before the commute began to fray my small margin of sanity, but just in time, management switched me to a slightly closer station. Even that desired improvement threw another wrench into the idealized scheme, as the only full-time staffer is a 70+ year old woman who’s now plainly unable to perform most of the job’s functions but remains stubbornly “retired on-duty.”
Most obviously, I’d wanted to stay in Ivy to avoid the stress and strain of moving, both for me and for my feline companions. But another motivation was the anticipated pleasure of swimming. Last summer, the pool had soothed the aches and pains of a physically demanding job at a nearby gardening center. What a perfect way to rejuvenate after a 90 minute drive home through some of the most congested traffic in Virginia outside of DC.
Again a delicate interplay of hope and delusion were at work in forming this modest expectation. With my 92 year old landlady now in assisted living, the two of her four children who were most proximate to the estate were making it clear that a minimum of expenditure would be used maintaining the property. Within two weeks of opening the pool (performed in a Tom Sawyer-like manner with me finally jumping in to do most of the physical labor so I could get a swim in on Memorial Day), the second son succeeded in turning the pool into a disgusting soup of algaecide that foamed the surface like a warm Budweiser. Over the next two months, the weeks when I could swim coincided with his profound neglect. It was his attention I feared the most as his idea of pool maintenance seemed limited to opening bottles of crap (gallons of chlorox and more algaecide) and pouring them in, a technique I maliciously enjoyed tracing back to his facility for opening liquor bottles (Alcoholic Tony became his nickname ’round here).
I won’t pretend I’ve handled with serene gratitude all the irritations that arose as my wish manifested in a way completely out of my control. Some of the rage of the past few months has lessened, but I continue to skim Craigslist for better housing options and attempt through my meditation and yoga practice to heal my lack of compassion for the 70+ park ranger who is making my job more difficult. Much of the time, in fact, I’ve allowed my anger to blind me to the fact that my simple wish has come true, and even now I can swiftly shift to being disgusted that I didn’t drum up a more substantial wish, something more lasting than a seasonal job and a half-way decent, albeit highly tentative rental situation.
Maybe it’s just these baby steps that will give me something to build on, no matter if it seems improbable at the moment. One day last spring these two small things – working at Shenandoah and swimming until the end of the season in this beautiful pool – seemed improbable too. Maybe one day I will fall in love with a man who’s kind and honest; maybe one day I’ll discover a creative endeavor I want to pursue no matter the obstacles. Maybe I just have to make a wish and then hold on through the wild ride of it coming true.
All summer, working in the park and commuting back and forth from home (having to get back to feed my two kitties who have been as patient and forgiving as can be), I’d been unable to do anything more than to gaze out at the woods from my entrance station booth. Finally, this past Monday, rather than sending me up to park headquarters to our remittance office to count money, my micro-manager allowed me a roving day. Although I had to hike in my polyester uniform and the day was late summer sticky, I got three short hikes in, all up to exhilarating views. As I peeled my uniform off, I comforted myself with the thought that once I got home, I could jump in the pool. True, the pool water was still cloudy from the last treatment, this time by a competent maintenance man, but eventually I did take a dip. On the final day of August 2015, I felt the full realization of my spring wish which my friend Frank had articulated so succinctly: “a summer of parks and pools.”
