During my difficult summer I lamented that even simple inexpensive joys were unavailable. I glared at natural views locked behind the windows of airplanes and cars. I gazed forlornly at trees from the budget busting cage of hotel rooms. I picked listlessly at overpriced unhealthy restaurant meals. I was walled off by important duties.
Intentionally but reluctantly I left my connection with nature unattended. This cost me a great deal of frustration. I felt like an inverted world would return to stability if only I could sit by a fire, cook a meal, and sleep under the stars. Intellectually, I knew that wasn’t entirely true, but surely it would’ve helped. In a summer that burned a huge chunk of my savings, how much could have been spiritually regained from a $5 pack of hot dogs and an hour to cook them over scrounged firewood?
Even now I lack the resources to run away from it all. I’d like to pile camping shit in my truck and run away to spend a week getting my head straight but my employer has been more than fair and I can’t ask for more. No regrets. I had a buffer. I’m lucky I had it. I used it. That’s what buffers are for.
The initial wave of grief has passed so it’s time to work on restoration. After a bit of moping I decided to force myself into a new point of view: I own land. I own a tent. Is that not enough?
Good point Curmudgeon! Buck up fella!
I can’t camp in my usual manner. I’d like a hearty basecamp stashed as far afield as a Dodge can get and a sailboat or motorcycle roving even further. So what? You don’t always get what you want. I OWN trees. If I need to sit under a tree I can do it right at my house. That’s the point of living in the country! Snap out of it Curmudgeon. At least you can spend an evening “camping” on your own land.
In the middle of the week, right after work, I lugged my heavy duty, hard core, hot tent to… of all places… my yard (which is only half mowed but that’s another story). In a gloomy evening I set it up. I went overboard and assembled the stove. Why not? Then I staked the tent down like I expected a hurricane.
I felt ridiculous! This is an expensive expedition level tent. It’s built for blizzards and howling wolves. I bought it for exciting manly endeavors. Instead of elk hunts and ice fishing I’d just erected it in a yard! I felt like the tent itself was insulted.
But, life is what it is. Also, I shouldn’t overestimate my energy. As the sun set, I felt dizzy and weak. Just too damn tired. I left my proud tent. It was staked down like a fortress and sealed like a rain jacket; it’ll be fine. I wandered back to my house, skipped dinner, and crawled straight into bed.
The tent waited and the next evening I tried again. I still hadn’t setup my cot. I decided to experiment and see how the tent would work with two lawnchairs instead of one chair and the huge cot. (I have this vague idea that someday I’ll use the tent as a hunting blind or an ice fishing shelter.) Even with the stove taking up a huge amount of real estate, there was ample room to sit and relax. It was a wet drizzly afternoon but the air felt good. Mrs. Curmudgeon joined me and we sat in lawn chairs reading.
How strange the world is. Sitting side by side in the odd environment of a domed Russian tent was perfect. Our dog flopped on my feet, as if to keep me pinned in my chair. I watched the drizzle occasionally breaking through the evening fog. That night we left the tent empty again. We walked back to the house and slept inside; much to the dog’s disappointment.
The next day all hell broke loose. A huge thunderstorm hit. I left the tent abandoned. I don’t like leaving gear unattended but hopefully it’s tough enough to take a few day’s misuse.
Another day dawned and the air was cool and misty. It was the weekend so Mrs. Curmudgeon and I (and the dog) spent a few more hours hanging out in the tent… just reading. Actually Mrs. Curmudgeon was reading. I couldn’t focus. I sat in the open door sipping beer and watching the leaves fall. Near sunset, the temperature dropped. I happily hustled up firewood from the soaked forest and started a fire. Mrs. Curmudgeon hasn’t seen the tiny woodstove in action. I was like a kid demonstrating his favorite toy. Soon the tent was a warm haven. This did wonders. Finally I was relaxed enough to start reading a book. The dog snored at our feet. Still, I retreated to the house at night.
The next day the weather had changed drastically. It was hot! The tent is meant for winter and was a sweatbox! So I setup a screen tent next to it. The air was hot and muggy but a gentle breeze and some shade made it tolerable. I set up my cot in the screen tent and immediately fell asleep. Mrs. Curmudgeon kept reading from her chair. The dog investigated every leaf and branch nearby.
I woke from a very long nap only to realize I’d baked myself in the heat. I staggered to the house and slurped a ton of water. I flopped in a chair in the cool house and berated myself for not taking better care of myself in the outside heat. That night I was restless in the house. Around midnight I left. I tiptoed past a confused dog and wandered out to my cot. The harvest moon was bright and the still warm air was filled with the scent of autumn. I drifted off to the sound of deer rustling under my old apple tree.
Sometimes it takes more steps to climb a hill than other times. I’ll get there. I haven’t been grouse hunting but I slept on a cot in “nature”. That’s a good thing. The next morning I wandered back to the house, with fallen leaves in my hair and a happy expression. Mrs. Curmudgeon had coffee brewing. Good thing too because I had to hustle to take a shower and get to work.
Everything is less adventurous than my usual stories. It took something like five days between setting up a tent and finally sleeping in a nearby screen tent. I guess it makes sense in it’s own way. That’s the story of the Curmudgeon’s lamest campout in years.
Update: I didn’t get around to packing up all my gear so I spent another night out there. A blustery weather front has since moved in. Those nights might have been the last hot spell of the year and I’m glad I didn’t let them go by.