Camping: the Good and the Bad
Hi. Just got back from Oregon mountain/river country. Here are some thoughts about the lovely thing that is camping.
GOOD
Cooking: Sure, you can throw a can of baked beans on the coals and then later slurp it down, but I like to pack in a ton of reeeeally delicious food and then take my time preparing. Food is a huge comfort in the wilderness, especially if you’ve hiked to the point of physical exhaustion. Also, due to lack of TV and other time wasters, you have PLENTY of idle moments once camp is made to simmer up something good. It’s an art, cooking over the open fire or on a Coleman stove—learn it!
Campfires: The campfire is more than just a pile of incinerating wood. It’s warmth and comfort. It’s a gathering place for discourse and camaraderie. It’s a void where you can stare, solitarily, and contemplate what’s inside yourself.
Mornings: Mornings are my absolute favorite thing about camping, hands down. Waking up with the dawn, the way the forest smells all wet with dew, the richness and snap of hot camp coffee, a fire to fight off the chill, the sounds and smells of breakfast floating through the campground, the way the sun feels when it hits your back for the first time that day. Magic—all of it.
BAD
Sleeping: I usually spend the daytimes of camping trips in a haze of cottony sleep deprivation. This is because overnighting on an inch thick pad with nothing ‘tween you and the savage wilderness but a thin layer of ripstop nylon is, for a light sleeper like me, next to impossible. If you’re car camping, air mattresses are a go until they get a hole and then you wake up wedged in between gnarled tree roots and the heavy body of whoever you are sharing the tent with. Not fun.
Being Scared: Lance and I backpacked in a couple miles and set up camp. After dinner and fire, we were inside our sleeping bags tittering like chipmunks about stupid jokes when suddenly something whacked the side of the tent. I have no idea what it was—it sounded like a psycho killer had thwacked the tent with the dull end of his machete. We were both instantly and oddly terrified. And shining a dollar-store flashlight out into the pitch dark didn’t help—it just brought to mind desperate scenes from horror movies. Now, in the daylight, in the city, we can laugh about it—but at the time … pretty skeeeery.
Bathroom Things: Sure, guys can whip it out and take a leak wherever they want—and ultimately, it’s not so bad for us females to tip toe behind a tree and do the same. But when it comes to OTHER bathroom things that need to get done—things involving toilet paper and small, furtive holes being dug and then quickly filled back in with dirt and leaves—doing this in the outdoors just, well, sucks.
5 Growing Things I Can't Do Without
Even in their mid-60s, my parents still out-farm and out-garden me. And during my childhood, they set a ruthless precedent for what a garden should be. I grew up on five acres of Shangri La in the mountains of Colorado—where every summer my sister and I feasted on fresh corn and strawberries and played hide and go seek behind colossal lilac bushes and patches of rhubarb.
This really IS how you should live.
But. I live in the city. And I’m busy!
Plus, although I appreciate certain qualities of it, I’m not necessarily a back-to-the-land hippy like my parents were. I choose my small-but-good garden carefully—from veggies to flowers—for low-maintenance awesomeness. Below, you’ll find five growing things that I just can’t do without.
Lettuce: Store-bought lettuce is disappointing. Sometimes you just want two pieces for a friggin BLT, but you have to buy the whole head—which just rots behind the ketchup bottle on the bottom shelf of the fridge. Grow your own lettuce, though, and you can graze at will. Even if it’s just a couple heads, a little lettuce patch will chill out for months with nothing more than regular watering and weeding. It doesn’t like the extreme heat, so I do a spring crop and a fall crop. Easy peasy!
Cilantro: Fresh cilantro has a strange kind of power. It makes everything taste better. And it goes in so many different kinds of food—from Mexican to Thai to Italian to simple fresh salads and sandwiches. Plus, it’s über-easy. Toss some seeds in the dirt during spring-shower time and reap the reward a month or two later.
Dahlias: These exquisite flowers are true works of art. They come in a million different colors and variations, each one a tiny masterpiece of nature. Plus, the dahlia grows from a bulb, making it extremely low on the effort scale. In early spring, just dig a little hole in the ground, drop some bulbs in, and let em rip!
Jasmine: Plant this creeping vine in a giant pot right by a window or on a patio or anywhere you’ll be hanging out regularly. Those tiny white flowers might look unassuming, but the scent they discharge is nothing short of powerful. I have mine growing up the pillar on my front stoop, so that when I sit out there of an evening contemplating the neighborhood goings on, the deep, mysterious perfume wafts up gracefully and surrounds me in a cloud of scented ether.
Rosemary: Plant this one for the bees. It’s nice to do something for someone else, right? When they’ve had their fill, you can use it in your roast potatoes, on grilled corn, to make butters and herb-flavored salts, to rinse through your hair to make it all smooth and shiny (Aveda does it!), and finally, to rub all over your dogs and cats to keep the fleas away. You guys, rosemary is a miracle plant.
Loud/Quiet
Were you in Portland last night? Thunder rolled in off the hot eastern plains, the sky turned purple, and the air was wild with ions. We were all at Heidi's loft overlooking broadway when the downpour started, but the sun was out too, so the rain was a kinda shower of light. Then it stopped, and the sunset was spectacular. Ah, summer!
In other news, I love working on the weekend (esp. a behemoth weekend like this one) because when everyone else is panicking out of town/elbowing through crowds, I'm just sitting behind my desk quietly typing ideas onto cyber-paper. My friends pop their heads in to visit, sometimes bearing coffee. And then my own days off (Thursday/Friday, currently) are spent skating empty parks, swimming in empty rivers, and generally hanging out amongst chill weekday scenarios. It's a good plan.
The OC
Now that the ugly part of spring is over, I think it's safe to talk about it. Like, therapeutically. How all that rain made us feeeel. How the goosebumps, the mud that found its way onto the kitchen tile, and the low-slung steely sky just re-affirmed all the gloom and doom inside us. Now .... let it go.
Aanyway, though, before the sun officially came out last week, I took a spin out to the Oregon Coast, just me and Big Left. Passed quietly through the green hallway that is HWY 26. Emerged at Canon Beach and caught Haystack Rock in the rearview mirror. Headed south to Manzanita as the winds kicked up and walked for a very long time on the beach. And it was very, very cold.
On the sand, Lefty booked it in all directions with his tongue flapping wildly behind him. The beach is an exquisite joy to dogs. As far as these little fellas are concerned, nipping at the surf and chasing gulls for miles are reasons for livin'.
Next day, woke to pouring rain. Despite this, I wanted to walk up the Oregon Coast Trail a spell. Which I did, as long as I possibly could. Up through the fog. Past electric green undergrowth beneath tall, wise trunks. Eventually, the deluge becoming so bad that I slipped and fell scrambling over some muddy tree roots. Promptly, with mud from foot to neck, I turned for home.
A feather, for luck.
First Cranial Nerve
Spring is, perhaps, the most brutal of all the seasons. Hot sun thaws the earth for a minute, and everything seems possible—and then suddenly. raw wind rips away all hope.
It's not my favorite season, but I kinda think it smells the best. Spring buds smell all fresh and green like the cold water that fed them. Cut grass makes you dizzy. Pollen wafts in pungent clouds through the breeze, floating straight past your nasal membrane and on into your brain cave ...