Mumbling Madly

The last day of summer ended with a camping trip in celebration of Kris’ 30th birthday. Josh has been itching to go camping so this was a perfect opportunity for him to drag out all our old camping gear before it is officially put into storage. I even had a brand new mummy sleeping bag that I have never used, which came in handy since it was COLD at night.

The camping trip was also a great excuse to get out of the city, something that I definitely felt the need for toward the end of the week. After a terrible day at work on Thursday, I came home to learn about a shooting that had occured three blocks from our new house. At the time I was so depressed from the day’s events, that this news merely added to my overall depression. Several days later, it still disturbs me and I’ve taken all sorts of steps to avoid driving through this intersection until the lingering feeling of ’shit going down’ goes away. It’s at times like these when I question wether or not I’m cut out for city living. Of course, shootings happen in every neighborhood regardless of how ‘nice’ they are or not. Many folks simply write it off as either ‘wrong place, wrong time’ or ”circumstantial.’ I have always been very sensitive, so even though I can dismiss such events as horrible but unapplicable to me, I still feel very, very bad. And why does the proximity to my house matter so much? Not so much because it could have happened to me, (chances are it wouldn’t, I certainly don’t pick fights with people who ride in strange cars), but because I could have witnissed it…and that scares me more then anything else.

Despite questioning my urban life, I don’t think I’m entirely cut out for the life of a nature loving camper. My grandfather once said he didn’t understand the appeal of camping…after all, our ancestors spent years of hard labor and grueling life on the prairie to eventually allow us a roof over our heads. After years of living off the land in wagons, eating what little could be found, and surviving harsh winters, our ancestors would be shocked to learn that we go out and mimic this life style for the pure fun of it. I am inclined to agree, and while I have only been camping a handful of times, I am pretty certain that my grandpa’s theory applies to me. When I was a kid I never cared to sleep over at a friend’s house because I didn’t want to spend time away from the comfort of my own bed.

The thing is, Josh LOVES camping. And it was Kris’ birthday. So, we went. Like most camping trips there were some great positives: hiking up to a water fall, hanging out around a warm fire after being cold all day, and s’mores; I ate so many, I can’t recall anything tasting so decadent. Unfortunately, our air mattress deflated both nights, leaving us shivering in the middle of the night trying to pump it back up. I fell trying to get down to the stream, resulting in my backside getting a big bruise and my fingernail being bent back at a weird angle.

It was very cold, although we were lucky it didn’t rain–hurrah! We ate delicious meals of potatoes, carrots, and onions wrapped in foil and baked in the fire.  We read off trivial pursuit cards as we zoned out near the fire, the flames mesmerizing us.  For camping pictures, I’ll refer you to Kris’ flickr page.   As soon as it dries, our camping gear goes away…until sometime next summer when Josh decided we must abandon our city life and live amongst the chipmunks again.