The weekend campout with my friend and her two youngest children is over. We give ourselves an A+. These kids had never camped before and after a bit of “I don’t have anything to do” complaints, they figured it out: climb on the nearby playground equipment, swing in the hammock, fiddle with the solar gadgets, build and tend a campfire, run on the lake beach, build sand castles. Or was it a sand mountain? Playing “Go Fish” in the communal kitchen tent (Clam Pavilion) was most fun. I enjoyed it even though I didn’t win all the games. Go figure, I’m growing up!
So as the last day of the campout approached, I wondered if maybe I should stay on a few days with The Tiny and the Clam Pavilion and practice my skills working on continuing education units from a State Park. I’m capitalizing State Park even though it’s not a proper name because they are so important. AP Style be damned.
I am nervous at the thought of staying on and letting this family drive off. I just couldn’t imagine myself here without them. When I saw that a big storm was on its way from Houston, I thought maybe I should clear out.
But then the thought arises: I’m only 30 miles from home on this second ever campout with The Tiny, and the second ever campout with the Clam. We used the Clam for a communal kitchen, but I realized it would make a great mobile office if I’m going to be camping for a few days or weeks. Wouldn’t it be a good thing to see how each of them performs in a big storm? And more than that, how will I perform with 10 to 12 hours of rain, some of it with lightning and thunder, camping in The Tiny?
It would be good to know all this before I set off on some extended travels. What if I’m miserable? Or afraid? Or anxious? Or unsettled? How can I work? If I can’t work, forget it. Go home. Work is everything.
On the other hand, what if I’m calm? Or cozy? Or strong and victorious? Or feeling abundant? Or wise? Or elated? Or free? Or enlightened? I would not want to miss that experience.
So, overcoming my fear, I stay and wave them goodbye. Before they leave, my friend encourages me to stake down my Pavilion in advance of the storm. Why wait until 1/2 hour before rain is expected and it’s windy and dark and late and I’m tired. So with her encouragement and tips and advice, I staked out the Pavilion against the coming onslaught.
Alone in the camp, it is first things first, and Cannoli and I take a good long hike on the abundant and well-used trails in this State Park. I call my sister just to hear a familiar voice. I’ve only been on my own for a half an hour and l already need comfort.
When I get back to camp, I feel perfectly whole. I set up my computer in the Clam, listen in on a spiritual support group phone call, and actually doze off in the chair with the breezes of the coming storm to keep me company.
After that, it’s time for our dinner. I put together a big salad and vegetables we had roasted yesterday over a bed of charcoal, and some crunchy edamame, and an ice cold fizzy water from The Tiny’s fridge.
A few bites into my dinner, I hear a man’s voice outside saying: “Knock. Knock. Hey neighbor!” I go out and greet what turned out to be a retired Air Force guy about 70 who pulled up a few minutes prior in a 40-foot RV. He’s enchanted with my Clam Pavilion. I give him a tour and he asks how much it weighs and I say 48 pounds. We agree that was not too much. He says he came from Houston, outrunning the storm, but that it would be catching up with us around midnight. He suggests I roll up the edges of the tarp the Pavilion is sitting on and roll them inside the perimeter so the rainwater doesn’t flow in. I whine that it would be ugly to have rolled up tarp along the perimeter. He doesn’t put me down. He doesn’t dis me. He says it would be just around the perimeter. And he says you only have to do it when a storm is coming. That makes sense to me. I like pretty. But when a storm is forecast, go with practical.
I get dinner done and I’m about to take Cannoli out for her last walk. The winds are picking up. I stake another side of the Pavilion for good measure. I don’t know if the awning on The Tiny will hold. Part of me wants to uninstall it and bring it in. But another part of me wants to see what it’s made of. Will it last?
I want to find out what all these material things are made of. And I want find out what I’m made of. How could we do that without a storm on the way?
I’ll post an update when it’s over.
Update No. 1: I worry a bit about my awning so I go onto a FB group for T@B owners and ask if the awning will survive a storm. After all, if you want to live close to nature, nature is going to happen. I get responses immediately. The consensus was: Take it down. And do it now before the winds are too strong. One responder says they left theirs up during a storm and one of the fiberglass poles split, and the manufacturer sent them another one without charge and quickly. I agree that the awning is made by an awesome company: PahaQue. And when I figure out how to pronounce it, I’ll let you know. But all things considered, I’ll sleep better tonight with everything battened down and stowed. A good night’s sleep is worth a lot. I have a lot to do tomorrow. I have to prove to myself that I can focus and produce beautiful continuing education units from a State Park. That is my dream and desire. So, good night and good luck.