The last four days have been intense. Little room for leisure. Lots of opportunities for aching muscles. While it’s not apparent that I have muscles at all anymore, the soreness I feel tells me that some facsimile of sinew and tissue remain beneath my skin.

Friday was not physically demanding, but mentally. I spoke at a funeral in Hampton, which meant that I strung together several hundred sentences based on common basic principles of communication. I attempted to be coherent, humorous, and perhaps even reassuring. This is hard mental work. I did a lot of pacing back and forth. I reviewed my words about a thousand times, wrung my hands while pacing, finally delivered them, and felt like I had run a marathon when it was all over.

Saturday, Marion and I got an early start on prepping the camper for an upcoming trip. After a long winter’s rest, a camper needs attention. It needs to be cleaned. It needs to be inspected. It needs to be organized. You cannot just hook up and go.

First, the cover comes off. The cover on a 28 foot tow-behind camper is about the size of a Goodyear blimp. The camper itself is 12 foot high from the ground up. There are multiple zippers, a dozen or so straps and buckles, most of which are under the belly of the beast.

I begin the removal process by scooching around under the camper on my back to loosen the buckles on each strap. Even though the cover is made from a slick nylon, it’s not as easy as grabbing one end and giving it a good pull to slide it off. There are gutter spouts on all four corners which threaten to poke holes in the fabric. The roof is littered with sharp, pointy things like vents, sky lights, and AC units, all of which are essential to the modern conveniences of RV camping.

So, we bring out two 10 foot stepladders. Marion and I go up and down 247 times while guiding the cover over and around any potential snags. Heave up on the cover. Get down and move the ladder. Go up and heave again. And, of course, there are tucks and folds at the rear end that are holding about 80 pounds of water from the winter rains.

At last, one final tug and the blimp collapses to the ground.

The main purpose of this cover is to help keep the camper clean when it’s not in use. This function is largely compromised, however, if, when the cover goes on several months earlier, the camper is already dirty from the prior season of use. The road grim turns to mold under the cover because the encapsulated nylon functions like one big petri dish. The pine straw in the gutters turns to a filthy black and green mush that has the consistency of toothpaste.

Just to beg your sympathy, the condition of the camper prior to covering was not entirely our fault. The camper had been borrowed, and by the time we got it back, we said the heck with it and put the cover on.

We were sipping coffee on the back porch long before daylight. Marion says to me, “You know we’re gonna have to wash the camper.”

She spoke these words with the same emotion she exhibits when she’s paying the IRS. We’re both feeling the pain.

I managed a weak and less than enthusiastic reply. “Let’s do it.”

We gather up the buckets and cleaning solutions. We stretch out the water hose from the house. Getting to the back corner of the camper is gonna be tight unless we add a second hose. I’m tugging and aiming that water stream as far as it will go.

We get into it. I’m using a soft brush on a long extendable handle which, after about an hour, weighs about the same as an anvil. My shoulders are crying by the time we get the front and one side done. But the brushes are not enough. Some of the leftover grime is glued to the skin of the camper. We break out the small scrub pads and the magic erasers.

That’s right. Every square inch is cleaned by the painstaking effort of scrubbing with a palm sized sponge. A lot of ladder work is involved. A lot of rinsing with a pistol grip spray nozzle on the end of the hose that sometimes will spray in an uncontrolled 360° pattern.

We are both soaked.

“I’m not pulling into a campground with a dirty camper,” she says.

We extend the slide to clean around the edges. We extend the awning to wash it down. More overhead work with brushes on long and heavy handles. I can barely make three or four swipes without resting my arms for a few minutes.

And in the middle of all this washing, we decide to empty all the storage compartments, throw away what we don’t use, vacuum out the grit, and reorganize all the gear. This needed to be done. But by the time we finished, our camper clean-up had turned into a really long day.

Day three. After church on Sunday, we beat it home for a quick bite to eat and to load the truck. Our daughter-in-law, Shannen, is in the middle of a bathroom makeover. We’re going over there to help out. The goal today is to lay new tile for the floor. But before that can happen, the toilet has to come out, and the old sink vanity has to come out. And the new vanity has to be installed.

No ladders are used, but there’s a lot of bending, crawling, and grunting.

Let’s just say that all the prep work getting ready to do the tile work took way longer than expected. My plumber’s butt was whooped. It was 6pm when we took a rest to eat some pizza, and 7pm when we started laying the first tile.

Marion measured and laid the mortar. Shannen buttered the backs. I took orders and cut the tile in the back yard by candlelight. By 10 pm we finished and loaded up our tools to head home.

A shower, a handful of Ibuprofen, and one fudge popsicle later and we both fell asleep like dead people.

Day four. Monday. My house. I got the bright idea that I would wash my truck. It’s been months since I cleaned up the old gal. Pollen residue is stuck in every crevice like cement. I’m not sure what’s on the roof, but something black is oozing down the back edge.

Two hours of bending, squatting, and reaching. My arms are feeling Saturday’s pain. My hams are squealing from Sunday’s aches. And I’m digging out the little seams on my truck with a toothbrush.

Work was originally a gift to mankind. A chance to participate in the creative order. A chance to lean back and enjoy the good that comes by the work of our hands.

We’ll enjoy camping in a few days. I certainly enjoy helping the kids work. And I do appreciate a clean truck. It’s all good.

But even He took a day of rest.