Grande Latte-via

Saturday morning. Coffee. A stone ramp that connects the loft of the Alabama Building to the ground below.

Camp Wesley is a beautiful place to be on a Saturday morning in late June. The sun is shining through cotton-ball clouds and the air is cool and clean. The surrounding pastures are a green canvas dotted with wildflowers that wave in the breeze as if the artist were still moving them with the stroke of his brush. The birds are serious about waking up the world, each trying to out chirp the other. Their music gets louder and louder with the morning light, until some secret pre-appointed time is reached, and then they all go on break. There are some big honking birds in Latvia. They don’t really honk, that’s just an expression I enjoy using. But they are big. Long red legs that bend the wrong way at the knee, white neck shaped like a crook-neck squash, and a long slender bill that would fit down a milkshake straw. I told my fellow campers that they were the dreaded nocturnal eye pluckers. Fortunately I already have limited credibility with my fellow campers.

I like to lie down on hard surfaces and this one is particularly hard and enjoyable. The slope is about 30 degrees, perfect to lay back, take an occasional sip of coffee, and stare at the clouds above, or the country-side all around. Lying down is appealing right now because I didn’t sleep long last night, or the night before. While it is true that I am having a wonderful time in Latvia, that is not the reason I have not slept.

It never gets dark.

The sun has always been a dependable sort, the ultimate alarm clock. When the sun comes up I know it is time to think about getting out of bed. In Alabama. But the sun is a bit more restless in this latitude. It just never quite settles down for the night.

Last night we were singing in the sunlight at 11:00 p.m. Sunset lasted all night. At two o’clock a thin red and pink line highlighted the horizon. Shortly after that the crazy old sun started slowing rising. The sun never sets, it slowly bounces. I went to bed.

Lying on my back in my luxurious one man tent the sun I awakened in panic (okay, not really a panic, I just don’t do that). I thought I had overslept. The sunlight bounced from canvas wall to canvas wall, screaming “wake up, wake up.” So I did. And then I slithered out of the front of the tent onto the wet grass of morning. I stumbled to the shower, enjoyed the hot water, then got dressed, made coffee and sat down here on my firm slanted foundation for a little quiet time. Dan came and I asked him what time it was.

“Seven o’clock.”

So I figure I slept about four hours. If I lived here for long I would go crazy from sleep deprivation.

It has been an exhausting, exhilarating week full of adventure, and for me, very little sleep. So I will save the recounting of our adventures in Latvia for another time. Right now I’ve got a little time to lay my head back on the concrete slope and sleep in the sun.