![]() The adults-each well over 30-camped and felt like kids, playing and bouncing and just being happy around each other. The kids camped and felt like adults, cooking and singing and feeling all their feelings so hard. Arms out and knees bending to the tree's bounce, we would ride it like a snowboarder rides her board. When I was very young in Oregon, my family lived on the side of a hill, and growing sideways out of that hill was a strapping Douglass fir that was just strong enough for my brother and me, one at a time, to climb out and bounce on it, a natural trampoline. The teenagers ignored it, but the adults paused at a still rooted, downed tree that bounced like a mechanical bull. After we broke down our camp, we went for a short, easy hike. The kids rose and scarfed down bowls of sugary cereal. Talking with my colleagues under the lace of new redwood needles felt good, like we were supposed to be right where we were at that very moment. This morning, the adults rose earlier than the kids, and we made ourselves several pots of French press coffee. Eventually, with a lot of teamwork, we all got our tents up and temporary homes as comfy as we could make them, we went for a short walk, and we made a sloppy dinner, likely as loaded with redwood needles as nutrients.Īfter food, stories, campfire smoke, and s'mores, we retired for a night among old trees. I had borrowed a tent I had a hard time visualizing how to put together, so I needed guidance from a young, wise camper to make it work. Some kids had never camped before, and tent set-up was understandably entertaining. We rolled out yesterday along the turquoise ocean, cutting through hills dotted yellow with oenethera, lupine, and coreopsis until we reached the redwoods in the low coastal range. It is like playing Whac-a-mole keeping camping teenagers in their respective tents at night, but it is worth it, because sitting around a campfire, singing songs (even the aforementioned Oasis "Wonderwall"), listening to a scary story told by a funny young storyteller, and playing memory games in the smoke and redwood needles is special indeed. Except now, we didn't have to try, we just were. We had spent the day snacking on childhood candy, asserting our strength and freedoms, proving we were powerful, just like we tried to do when we were teenagers. We kept breaking into laughter for no other reason than we had won. X treated me to iced coffee, and we told more stories on the way down. I put my sandals back on and kept going.Īs soon as straps were tight and cargo secure, we defiantly drove away from doubt. My feet sweated so much they slipped around in my sandals, so I took my sandals off. Sweat curled X's golden hair and turned her face strawberry red. It was 99 degrees Fahrenheit while X and I loaded the Jeep and strapped the dresser on top. ![]() So, we ran to the hardware store and bought ratcheting straps. Part of the reason I chose Tiger Lily is because I believe her to be badass, and to me, badass means capable and surprising. ![]() Only I get to tell myself I am incapable of something. His low expectations out of X, the Jeep, and me made me fierce. Additionally, we didn't know we also would be carrying back a large majolica bird bath, boxes of china, and a clock for X's mother. He had sent measurements which I had checked against Tiger Lily's interior, but wires crossed somewhere along the way, and the dresser wouldn't fit inside. The person from whom we were to pick up the dresser stood in the driveway with his hands on his hips and a near audible disapproving cluck as we hopped out of my Jeep. We traded jokes with the cashier like we were high school kids.įrom Old Town, we drove out to the suburbs. I chose licorice wheels and she chose cinnamon bears. We spent an hour in Old Town Sacramento, ate lunch and bought candy because candy is road trip food. We jabbered all the way across the bay, through the golden oak-studded hills, and along the straight oleander-ed 99. X and I rolled out of the city in the morning on the two-hour drive up to Sacramento to pick up an inherited dresser and bring it back down to her cute little San Francisco Victorian on a hill.
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
Details
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |