The Stars Above

Took my new tent and camping gear out for a test run Sunday night, in a rustic (read: "outhouse restrooms, no showers or other accessories") campground. Nice spot at the edge of the woods, firepit and all that. The weekend crowd had mostly left and I had the place mostly to myself. Someone in the distance was yelling profanities, but I tried to ignore him; when he fell silent the only sound was the birds and the breeze.

No problems setting up the tent; we're getting to know each other, me the nuances and the difference between the instructions and actually doing, and the tent, if it has an inner awareness, seems to have grown less skeptical about my performance and is therefore less skittish about cooperating. Anyway, we're getting along. I find something profound in primitive solitude, figuring things out as I go, deciding what matters in the moment.

All set up, and I set out for walk in the woods. Found a signpost with three numbers on it, and walked until "1" went one direction, "2" and "3" others. I had no map, and the signs were silent as to what each promised. But the park is not that large, so I simply took "1" in a pleasant loop through old forest and the occasional meadow, not so much wildflowers as simple foliage. Again the only sound the birds and breeze, offset by my footsteps and the occasional rustle in the treetops or underbrush, as I disturbed some other being's tranquility. Trail "1" merged into "2" and I found myself in a large meadow, this one with various flowers, and the occasional butterfly, some monarchs and a yellow swallowtail. Then into the woods, and back to the campsite. in time for dinner.

The night went well, the solitude felt heavy and comfortable. The only sounds being crickets and tree frogs and the occasional click of branches or rustling in the treetops or underbrush. For a while I heard coyotes howling in the distance. Nature called around midnight and and I crawled out of the tent. No moon and no clouds, and the stars shown incredibly brightly. I walked away from the campsite into a clearing and simply looked around in awe. It's been years since I really saw the stars like that, and it brought back memories of summer nights in small town Nebraska, when our family would lay out in the front yard on blankets and dad would point out the constellations and the Milky Way, things not visible in city skies.

The worst part of the night was around 3 a.m. when my stomach started to rumble and I realized the "Three-Bean Chili" may not have been the wisest choice among he dehydrated food selection at REI, but it had seemed at purchase time the most economical and easiest to prepare with the Jetboil. I dreaded having to trudge to that glorified outhouse and sit on that cold metal seat while the odors of others before me would engulf me. But my stomach settled and I fell into a deep sleep.

The morning was bright and clear, and, after a cup of English Breakfast tea and a breakfast of dehydrated eggs and cheese, I wandered off on a nature trail, then packed up and returned to "the real world," with more than a little reluctance.