Tent Life

February 12, 2019 – Dash Point State Park, Federal Way, WA

It’s the first time since we’ve been on the road that we haven’t had to pack up and leave in the morning. Brent, Loki and I have been here for a few days now, though I can’t remember exactly when we arrived. Here, away from civilization, time is measured not by obligations and appointments, but by morning coffee, washing dishes, drying clothes, playing cards, and the occasional shower (when I feel brave enough to face the cold).

Yesterday the campsite “host”, or should I say “hostess”, stopped by to inform us that all tent campers had to pack up and leave due to upcoming inclement weather conditions. This made no sense to me, since we’d already made it through the worst of it … 6 inches of snow, no power (meaning no heaters), and temperatures near the single digit range.  The new forecast was for a mere 1-3 inches of snow, turning into rain as warmer weather moved in from the south. She eventually softened, informing us that we needed to “take responsibility” for anything that might happen, though I assume we had already done that when we reserved our tent site….and that’s how we left it.

Our tent is about as comfortable as a tent can be. In theory, it’s built for 8 people.  In fact, it’s the perfect size for two people and a dog. There’s more than enough room for chairs, a queen size blowup mattress, camp stove, and supplies. Two electric heaters keep the temperature around 60 degrees inside. For Brent, this is luxury living—for me, it could be considered a step down from living in a house, but I don’t look at it that way. It’s an opportunity to be independent, to do what I want when I want.

I’ve always had that nomad mentality, for as far back as I can remember. As a child I slept with a radio next to my bed, one hand on the dial, searching through static, trying to pick up the most distant station I could find and dreamed of being there, wondering what it would be like to live that alternate reality. But lately I’ve been feeling the need to settle down, find a place I can put my belongings, a place to call home. That doesn’t mean I won’t wander—it’s an integral part of who I am.  

How did I end up living this nomadic existence in a tent? It’s a long story, one that will slowly unwind as this blog progresses.

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