She’s been with me ever since I began my RVing odyssey. A piece of metal folk art from a longtime dear friend, my Tin Angel with the broken horn manages to catch a ride with me every time I move. Sometimes I barely remember to get her out of whatever tree or post she’s been hanging on.
When I camp hosted at Hickory Run state park, Angel swung as my welcome sign; her horn still firmly attached, she’d happily blow away on her silent horn from sun up to right back again, signaling the eternal call to heaven’s good graces.
On the Pacific coast in California, she added a little more rust to her already reddish-brown patina, as she floated gently on the ocean breeze. At a campground in the foothills of the Shenandoah mountains in Virginia, Tin Angel happily swayed in a young birch tree to the croaking of tree frogs and passing song birds.
In Pennsylvania she dangled from my daughter’s clothesline. Any wayward wind would whip her around in circles and flips. I’d get dizzy just watching her crazy dance. That’s where it happened. Hammered into a whirling dervish by a westerly wind, Tin Angel took a mean, left hook from a solid metal pole; her bugle bent almost clear around her head.
I straightened it out, but the horn now barely hangs on. I have the idea to just lop the horn right off; it could look like she’s just singing, her mouth in a perpetual O. Tin Angel won’t hear any of it; determined to keep what’s hers. So broken horn or not; it stays.
I know where the problem lies. She’s meant to be stationary; I usually hang her in a tree and let her swing without a thought to the vagaries of the weather. That has got to change.
Today she’s going to hang in the Palo Verde tree in my little courtyard. Well, she’ll actually be strapped to the trunk of the tree with a wire and a mini bungee cord around her waist (it looks natural enough, like she’s wearing a corded belt around her tin toga). That way she’ll be safe from the fiercesome Santa Ana winds, the hot ones that come out of the west like somebody left the doors of hell wide open.
And what do you know! That rain I prayed for and dreamt about; it came down today! Oh yeah! It came with a fury in great roaring, pounding sheets and buckets and dime-sized hail. All day long; one thunderstorm after another with great booming lightning and gusts of wind enough to rock my RV like it was a boat on the sea.
So much rain that the road in front of my site became a lake. When the storm finally eased off, I sat in my camp chair admiring the reflection of the blue sky in my little, temporary desert lake. Then slowly all that water decided to drain right through my RV site; random rivulets running right past the palo verde tree with my tin angel strapped to its trunk, blowing her horn in jubilation.
(aka Tin Can Traveler)