My Swift Descent into Hippie-dom.

Photo by Charles Dyer. Click the image to stroll on over to his Flickr Photostream.

Happy Lollipop Tuesday, Ladies and Gentlemen.

I’m almost embarrassed to admit that this week’s adventure was camping.  Almost.   Let’s face it: at this point in the game, it’s obvious that I’m a sheltered, awkward hermit who hasn’t experienced life. In fact, that’s kind of the whole deal behind this blog’s existence.   And though I was certain that I’d been camping at some point in my lifetime based solely on the fact that I was bred out of the armpit of America, I suddenly realized that all my experiences with tents were in the backyards of my neighbors’ houses.

There was an inkling of camp-age when I went to Ocean City, Maryland for my birthday a few years ago.   But a brief stint of rumination recalls a hot tub and hotel that were right beside the “camping ground” and we frequented them often.   Then there was the year I was a camp counselor and theater teacher for a children’s performing arts camp in Michigan (I don’t want to talk about it), but those were pretty darn nice cabins and my food came from a mess hall.

So this past weekend, I traveled into the heart of West Virginia to a state park camping ground to eat food cooked on a fire, sleep on a tent floor, and abstain from showers.

And I gotta tell ya – I’m a fan.

I’m in love with food cooked on a fire.   I’m pretty sure it can make anything palatable, if not incredibly delicious.  Vegetables, scrambled eggs, potatoes, babies  – anything.  Delicious.

I’m not such a fan of the dewy, awkward, blanket of moistness that accumulates on me while I sleep.  I’m not really down with the 4 times I wake up in the middle of the night to adjust the blanket for salvation from sweltering heat or freezing cold.  And I guess when I think about it, it would be pretty nice to just have a regular shower that isn’t in a shared half-doored bathhouse a quarter-mile away  filled with loud, adolescent girls.  But hey, I really didn’t mind all that much either.

I kind of like just being out in the wilderness and staring at a fire.  I like that my biggest concern is when the next log will need put on the fire, and I have an excuse to avoid every call, email, or text that could possibly come my way.

Maybe I don’t like camping – I just like being left alone.

Yeah, that’s it.  I like being left alone.  I don’t care if I have to strip myself of grocery stores, consistent, running water, and a mattress to do so; I am totally into this off-the-radar gig. And since I’ve recently been entertaining the notion of hiking the Appalachian Trail, I fear all the evidence amounts to me abandoning real life in trade for a life amongst the trees.  I think right now my level of comfort is somewhere between ‘camping’ and ‘hippie commune’. 

Ugh, I just admitted that I’m entertaining the notion of joining a hippie commune.  

Things have quickly gone downhill. ♣

Tags: 365 Project, blogging, Humor, life, musings, postaday2011