Camping (Glamping?)
September 27, 2024
I’m writing to you from Cape Blanco State Park in Southern Oregon, sitting not in the sun at the picnic table with the red checkered cloth draped over it, as I’d planned yesterday, but instead at the comfy little table inside our trailer, because Oregon decided to give us a taste of Pacific Northwest Wintery Weather - hours of misty rainfall, clouds, and fog. Truly, it is cozy in here, and the rain makes the myriad colors in these woods outside the window and screen door alert, shouting red, green, yellow, white.
Our campsite is lovely. Peaceful and quiet, nestled amongst trees, ferns, and flowering shrubs high on a bluff, a short walk from Oregon’s dramatic rugged coastline. A coastline dotted with massive stone sea stacks jutting from the water near the shore.
Today is day 25 of Bill and my 37-day camping trip.
“Really?” You may be wondering.
Yep, It’s true. We have become “glampers,” moving from years of tent camping to a 19-foot airstream, which, when “hooked up” to water and electricity, is truly like carrying our home along with us, attached to the back of Bill’s red truck; there’s a fridge, stove, toilet, and shower. And can you guess? Right, a TV. Glad to say we can’t figure out how to watch anything, so, for now, I have taped a poster on the screen, and it’s non-intrusive.
We never predicted that our camping life would resemble a snail’s life. Going slow, carrying our home hooked onto our back. But, now in our 70th decade, I admit, it’s been nice. Great, even.
So, the big question: Am I writing while on the trip?
I have Musing ideas, for sure. I am even getting insight and inspiration for some tricky sections of my memoir that I have avoided writing because they require facing emotions I’d rather keep buried deep, sound asleep, covered in their fern-strewn, mossy forest floor bed. But, lo and behold, during my weekly Monday writing group, I found myself writing the hard scene about Mom’s wild, manic episode on Sanibel Island on Florida’s Gulf Coast in 1991. I am making headway, and I know it’s important to my story, to the path leading to the change I longed for, the thread that holds my story fabric together. I remember the vital parts of that trip and their effect on me, but writing them down evades me.
My goal is to complete a rough draft of this chapter to submit to my amazing Read and Critique group that meets in person on Tuesday, Oct 8, the day after we arrive home. I intend to send the stellar writers in this group something worthy of their time, deep reading, and valuable, thoughtful comments.
And, I am writing to you, my loyal “Musing” readers. Thanks for being there for me.
Please reply if this post sparks a memory in you. A road trip? Or a creative endeavor or anything else.
What are you reading? I just finished “Let’s Take the Long Way Home,” a memoir of friendship and loss by Gail Caldwell. Damn, I love her way with words!
Then I read and loved Maggie O’Farrell’s novel, “Instructions For a Heatwave,” set in England, New York City, and Ireland. It is a family saga with humor, tragedy, and miscommunication. Her writing is so splendid that I want to return to page one and start again.
At one of our campsites, there was a library shelf, a place to take or leave a book for other campers. I picked up Ann Napolitano’s charming novel, “Hello Beautiful,” another family relationship story focusing on sisters. Having two close sisters, I have always loved books about sisters! And it’s about reimagining oneself, and this appeals to me.
