I had to leave the campground to realize how much I love it. Now that I’m back, I’m so freaking happy!
It happened about a week ago that I got the idea to move on from this canyon campground near my sister’s house to visit a friend a few hours away and park in her driveway. We have been friends for almost 15 years and she is unfailingly gracious and welcoming. So I anticipated a lovely (and free) camping interlude in her driveway.
And what a lovely driveway it is, situated in an enlightened hamlet of kind and spiritual people. The driveway in front of my friend’s 1920’s farmhouse sits under massive oak trees, and The Tiny was facing a white picket fence and rose bushes and a lush fenced lawn where the doggie could rest and play. Idyllic, really.
So why was I so miserable?
Let me count the ways. First of all, when you’re in a driveway, you’re not camping. You can’t put up your big awning and rugs and table and ARB refrigerator and your rice cooker full of Brussels sprouts in sesame oil and Tony Chachere Creole Seasoning and sit out there in the evening while your dinner is cooking tapping away on your laptop. Much as I’m doing right now.
Oh no. In a driveway, your rig is expected to look cute and contained. It should look like something from a magazine. Not messy. There should be no big awning, just a little sumpin’ sumpin’ over the door if you must. No massive rugs. No big ARB refrigerator or cooler on a table under the awning. No outdoor cooking. No trash bag hanging handily by. No collapsible tub with dish soap ready for your dishes. No squatting to wash dishes at the spigot. No sitting outside and watching the world go by.
In a driveway, you are running up someone’s electrical bill. And if there’s a drought and water shortage, each shower you take is that much less water for their roses.
Maybe I made up all these restrictions in my mind. And maybe they are real.
Worst of all, I found it impossible to get focused on my work. I thrive on hours of uninterrupted work time to think and ponder and write. But in a driveway, you’re constantly aware of your host’s schedule and errands. Being such good friends, it would seem rude to disappear without saying where you’re off to. So the hours of focus just don’t happen. Didn’t happen. And I felt unsettled and confused. As I’ve often said, if I can’t get work done, this is a non-starter. Go rent some place and settle down. But that’s not what I’m doing here.
As I became more and more miserable, I started to inventory my situation and my reactions to it. I reminded myself that I was on a mission of discovery. And while driveway camping sounded good in concept, it turns out, upon discovery, not to be right for me. After less than 2 days of this, I realized I had to get out of there and back to a campground. I called two confidants to share my distress and my plan. Eventually it was time to tell my friend that I would be moving on. Of course, she’s the perfect friend: sorry to see my go, but totally respectful of my needs.
I left in the morning and got back to the campground a few hours later. It’s part of my campground membership, so there is no fee. My new site is not the best, and it’s not the worst. It’s on a bluff at the edge of the campground, and has spectacular views of several mountain ranges. It has pretty good cell service for my hotspot, which is critical for my work. On the downside, there’s not enough shade, and the guy next to me has more junk that I would prefer. I waved to several people I met last time. The neighbor who works for hospice nearby will be back Sunday.
What I like best about these campsites are the low white fences between each of us. These fences make it very clear that is my campsite. For the few days or weeks I’ll be here, this is my domain. I control this little part of the universe. Here is where I have a right to “quiet enjoyment” of my site, to use a real estate rental term. In this little pocket of the planet, Katt and the dog and The Tiny and tow vehicle have full rights. I use all the electricity I need for my AC and lights and whatever. I use as much water as I need for living and washing off my rig, if I want. The bath block nearby I would rate an 8 out of 10, and I can take showers all day long if I want. I can cook outside under my awning. My dog can chew on her bone in our gravel front yard. I can squat down near the spigot to wash my dishes and feel perfectly normal and legit, not like an eyesore or freak show.
Because I paid so much for my campground membership, I’m loathe to spend the $40 ro $50 it costs for one night of camping these days. Eventually I’ll wrap my mind around that and on occasion, where there is no membership campground near someone I want to visit, I’ll pay out the money for a few days stay. I might even go back to visit my friend and pay for a campground near her. I’ll have my own campsite, and I’ll wake up early and have my coffee and take my dog for her first walk and set up the big computer and get some work done. Then, when I have fulfilled my obligations to my clients, I’ll call up my friend and say, “Hey, whatcha doin’? Want a visit from me and the dog? Wanna take a walk?”
This is my vision: to camp and work and then visit. And to not live in a driveway. but in a campsite. This is what I have discovered about myself. It’s good to know.