Howdy,
About camping, What if?—or, If only …
I was thinking, I might be able to get a whole week out of this. Maybe.
Camping. I mean, the material is there. More than enough for a week’s worth of blog posts.
Because, camping, if you think about it … Camping, as I imagine everyone knows (I mean, who’s never been camping? How underprivileged or overprivileged would one have to be to have never been camping? If a person’s homeless, he or she would definitely know about a certain, difficult, sort of camping. And the other who’s only ever stayed in some sort of Aspen cabin when he’s gotten close enough to the outdoors and “roughing it” to have to have alternate shelter—think cozy and crackling in the background, which sounds nice doesn’t it? I mean, if it were winter and we wanted a fire roasting in the place and not now when we’re starting at weeks of 100 degree plus weather), okay, as I imagine some people know: camping seems to hinge drastically on the high expectations for escape and relaxation assumed to be promised in getting away and out into the “wilderness*.”
Check that, in all the rambling parenthetical thoughts? The high of being excited about camping seems to be in the anticipation of it being relaxing.
Or adventurous.
Or an escape.
Or epic.
Or offering a spread of tasty food—or as much junk food as you can bring as a break from trying to eat better.
Whatever camping is, it is anticipation.
The reality?
Well, let me say, I’m not here to bash camping. I like camping, and fishing, and kayaking, and hiking, and roasting marshmallows, and playing on rivers, lakes, and streams. I like camping.
I also like Jim Gaffigan’s comedy bit about the “Happy” camper, as I referenced not too long ago. Let’s just say the hungry comedian finds the term ironic from his way of thinking (or performing, at least). Though if any of the rest of his routine holds true as well, Mr. Gaffigan probably won’t mind the tasty spread part of a campout. I imagine it’d have to be car camping with a well-established base camp of coolers filled with snacks and drinks. But, that wouldn’t have to mean he was happy about it. Darn mosquitoes. And no microwaves for those hot pockets.
I like camping. I really do.
But.
But, but, but …
I have to say … anticipation.
That’s where the power is. That’s the draw of camping, and sometimes turns out to truly be the main attraction.
So, what I thought I’d do this week is write fictional accounts of camping. From a place of positive perspective on the event of wandering into the woods (or parking lot “campsites”), I thought I’d look at camping with that anticipation. With those high expectations for escape and relaxation. Dig for the fulfillment of that promise of getting away. Idyllic. That getting out into the wilderness.
I don’t know exactly yet what it will look like, but doesn’t that sound good? Camping, as it sound be? As it’s pictured when energy is high packing for the trip. When any occurrences stalling the departure process or journey on the way itself is an anxious obstacle slowing us down from getting to that lumpy little patch of dirt with the hidden rocks laying in wait for each and every happy camper’s lower back in the middle of the night. Out in the dark of the woods. And you’ve got to pee. Or make a bottle for the baby and change his diaper because he peed. Never mind, just the bottle and back to bed. The rest can wait for morning. I mean, that bag on that rock is so comfy. (Yeah, those Aspen cabin vacationers: losers.)
Okay, maybe it won’t all be “positive,” but I do like camping (thou dost protest …!)—I do—and, it will be idyllic. Hey, with camping, there can be some warts and it still be idyllic.
That might not even make sense, but that’s camping.
Like I said—whatever it ends up being as a blog—I figure there’s plenty of material. Yet, maybe not, if I try to keep it all positive and “anticipated.”
Ah, happy camper.
—Billy
Reading. Writing. Living.
*Wilderness being lots of different versions of the outdoors for lots of different people. And for me, it’s either something somewhere in-between what others would consider wilderness. Or, it’s a wonderful Nacho Libre joke/line the makes me smile. “How did you find me? Out here in the wilderness?” The boy Cancho: “We saw you, Nacho … from the village.” (My paraphrase from memory, and if that doesn’t do it for you … you probably need to see it anyway, as the character’s pointing and visual of the village below the small desolate hill serve in the humor. Or, it’s just Nacho and just I think it’s funny. Anyway, it’s hilarious. And very … wildernessy.)
Word Count: 137,322 / On Pace: 146,850 / Year’s Goal: 200,000
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