So much experience, so much captured, so much revealed, in a one-night “daycation.” Coyote dung would’ve spooked me, but you’re in touch with the animal spirit. None would bother you.
Now that looks like a refreshing respite, my dear Susie. I want a Gazelle, too. Now. Self-inflating mats are also back-changing, hip-changing, shoulder-changing, you get the drift-changing. I'm envious of that lovely hammock. You also stuck to the first rule of senior camping: buy dinner on the way to the site, because nobody wants to cook after arriving.
That tent lighting is very impressive; it adds some character to the campsite.. I'd love to try something similar, but my friend shares his tent with me so I'd need his imprimatur prior to decking the halls. And don't diss your gear too much. Clearly some memories and history are woven into it, and that's priceless.
Not only could use a little godless communism, but we could use a lot more Bills. What knowledge he had! One does not merely open a book and memorize that kind of thing; one lives it. I venture to say that his spirit roams the hills and canyons, the peaks and coastlines of this marvelous state that we must fight to save. He was such a gift for you.
After I divorced the mother of my two daughters, I took my girls camping every late August for a three-day campout to Lake Siskiyou near Mount Shasta. I did so for seven years until they "aged out," so to speak. I would hand over a gonad to relive those times.
My only camping now is every August, when a cadre of 20 to 30 left-wing males gather at a Somewhere in California for a four-day tent fest someone with a questionable imagination called "Man Camp." I've been to three of them and this year is the 20th such amalgamation, which tells me that changing the name to something that doesn't evoke Andrew Tate or Jordan Peterson or the rest of the fucking manosphere isn't going to happen.
"Man Camp." Why can't we call it "The League of Progressive Outdoorsmen" or some shit like that? Most of them attended the Fairfield high schools, and I didn't, so there's that...
Any road, we hike, we cook (some of the fellows are outdoor-cooking artisans), we eat, we eat some more, we bring our portable power supplies to energize the amps, guitars and keyboard that the blokes haul in for our nightly jams (guess who belted out Led Zeppelin vocals at his first camp?), and find a spot to safely kick back to watch the peak of the Perseid meteor shower.
Oh, did I forget to mention the various and sundry psychoactive compounds? Mostly cannabis offerings, a certain species of a semi-synthetic, hallucinogenic compound derived from ergot, a celebrated fungus the name of which begins with a silent "P," and on occasion another source of unique experiences that sort of rhymes with "coyote." I myself don't partake because they would wreak havoc with my antidepressants (yes, that's plural).
I love the plant ID portion of your missive. Back in the Dreamtime, when I attended an alternative high-school summer-school program on Monte Bello Ridge, I learned to identify just about every plant and animal in Stevens Creek Canyon. We dissected owl pellets and yes, coyote shit. Not like the behemoth you found, however.
Speaking of such, I am intrigued (when am I NOT intrigued) by your mention of red elderberry syrup. In that summer program we were told that blue elderberry was the only type we could eat; red ones would create Eventual Intestinal Regret. Perhaps the process of making syrup and some beautiful witchery negates such effects.
A splendid outing it was for you all, and it's always lovely to have visitors as well. Such activities should happen more often.
Rick thank you for such a reply, I feel so “read.” You know, being a kid of divorced parents, I really identified “camping” as something I did with Daddy on his summer visits, holiday visits with me. And yes, I’d love to do them all over again! I would be so much better at them now.
When I had my snazzy job at Audible, I indulged in some big ticket items at REI, and now I wish I’d bought even more! Ha. The Gazelle would make you happy even in your own front yard or apartment balcony!
Thank you for confirming that coyote scat was impressive. At first we wondered if it was a mountain lion simply bc of size, but the app set us straight.
I think your camp sounds like a blast. I can’t wait to hear what your “solo” Plant vocals are going to be this year.
We'll see how my larynx holds up! And it's definitely a hoot. Last time I went, we were all either three sheets or high as kites and what did we do? We played balloon ball. Like a bunch of ten-year-olds. "Don't let it touch the ground, for fuck's sake!"
Susie, I have always enjoyed what you have to say, and I read it with interest and fascination. Moreover, I learn from you, and not just about sex or politics; articles like this offer insight into your love of nature and how your past has shaped you. I've been writing for the past three or four year years, mostly for Medium, and only now do I feel like a "real" writer (well, let's see if I can get that novel out the door). I'm still getting used to Substack, and reading you helps. For that, I am grateful.
What a beautiful photo walk. Makes me crave some elderberries, which aren’t read around here until sometime much later in the summer. The orange tent is beautiful, however I need something much taller that can accommodate a cot for an old man who has to get up several times in the night. For that reason, these days I generally opt for a cheap motel or staying with friends who own a camper.
Oh yes, here’s what I’ve been reading in my creekside hammock hours:
“Sad Janet,” by Lucie Britsch,
“The Bill My Father Gave Me,” by Bernard Cooper,
“Rumpole and the Penge Bungalow Murders” by John Mortimer,
“The Unmapped Country,” Ann Quin’s last book,
“Sly and the Family Stone: An Oral History” by Joel Selvin, and,
“Tramps Like Us,” gloriously reissued, by Joe Westmoreland.
I see many of them are comic, if darkly comic. But I need it!
So much experience, so much captured, so much revealed, in a one-night “daycation.” Coyote dung would’ve spooked me, but you’re in touch with the animal spirit. None would bother you.
Oh no, they don’t want to run into us, believe me. We’re not their prey. I have much more to fear from the dreaded “poison oak.”
Come on a Campfari with meeeeeeeeee....
Now that looks like a refreshing respite, my dear Susie. I want a Gazelle, too. Now. Self-inflating mats are also back-changing, hip-changing, shoulder-changing, you get the drift-changing. I'm envious of that lovely hammock. You also stuck to the first rule of senior camping: buy dinner on the way to the site, because nobody wants to cook after arriving.
That tent lighting is very impressive; it adds some character to the campsite.. I'd love to try something similar, but my friend shares his tent with me so I'd need his imprimatur prior to decking the halls. And don't diss your gear too much. Clearly some memories and history are woven into it, and that's priceless.
Not only could use a little godless communism, but we could use a lot more Bills. What knowledge he had! One does not merely open a book and memorize that kind of thing; one lives it. I venture to say that his spirit roams the hills and canyons, the peaks and coastlines of this marvelous state that we must fight to save. He was such a gift for you.
After I divorced the mother of my two daughters, I took my girls camping every late August for a three-day campout to Lake Siskiyou near Mount Shasta. I did so for seven years until they "aged out," so to speak. I would hand over a gonad to relive those times.
My only camping now is every August, when a cadre of 20 to 30 left-wing males gather at a Somewhere in California for a four-day tent fest someone with a questionable imagination called "Man Camp." I've been to three of them and this year is the 20th such amalgamation, which tells me that changing the name to something that doesn't evoke Andrew Tate or Jordan Peterson or the rest of the fucking manosphere isn't going to happen.
"Man Camp." Why can't we call it "The League of Progressive Outdoorsmen" or some shit like that? Most of them attended the Fairfield high schools, and I didn't, so there's that...
Any road, we hike, we cook (some of the fellows are outdoor-cooking artisans), we eat, we eat some more, we bring our portable power supplies to energize the amps, guitars and keyboard that the blokes haul in for our nightly jams (guess who belted out Led Zeppelin vocals at his first camp?), and find a spot to safely kick back to watch the peak of the Perseid meteor shower.
Oh, did I forget to mention the various and sundry psychoactive compounds? Mostly cannabis offerings, a certain species of a semi-synthetic, hallucinogenic compound derived from ergot, a celebrated fungus the name of which begins with a silent "P," and on occasion another source of unique experiences that sort of rhymes with "coyote." I myself don't partake because they would wreak havoc with my antidepressants (yes, that's plural).
I love the plant ID portion of your missive. Back in the Dreamtime, when I attended an alternative high-school summer-school program on Monte Bello Ridge, I learned to identify just about every plant and animal in Stevens Creek Canyon. We dissected owl pellets and yes, coyote shit. Not like the behemoth you found, however.
Speaking of such, I am intrigued (when am I NOT intrigued) by your mention of red elderberry syrup. In that summer program we were told that blue elderberry was the only type we could eat; red ones would create Eventual Intestinal Regret. Perhaps the process of making syrup and some beautiful witchery negates such effects.
A splendid outing it was for you all, and it's always lovely to have visitors as well. Such activities should happen more often.
X's 'n' O's
Rick Steele
Rick thank you for such a reply, I feel so “read.” You know, being a kid of divorced parents, I really identified “camping” as something I did with Daddy on his summer visits, holiday visits with me. And yes, I’d love to do them all over again! I would be so much better at them now.
When I had my snazzy job at Audible, I indulged in some big ticket items at REI, and now I wish I’d bought even more! Ha. The Gazelle would make you happy even in your own front yard or apartment balcony!
Thank you for confirming that coyote scat was impressive. At first we wondered if it was a mountain lion simply bc of size, but the app set us straight.
I think your camp sounds like a blast. I can’t wait to hear what your “solo” Plant vocals are going to be this year.
We'll see how my larynx holds up! And it's definitely a hoot. Last time I went, we were all either three sheets or high as kites and what did we do? We played balloon ball. Like a bunch of ten-year-olds. "Don't let it touch the ground, for fuck's sake!"
Susie, I have always enjoyed what you have to say, and I read it with interest and fascination. Moreover, I learn from you, and not just about sex or politics; articles like this offer insight into your love of nature and how your past has shaped you. I've been writing for the past three or four year years, mostly for Medium, and only now do I feel like a "real" writer (well, let's see if I can get that novel out the door). I'm still getting used to Substack, and reading you helps. For that, I am grateful.
That black and white downed willows photograph is beautiful.
How I long to be among that lavender! My grandmother (whose name was Violet) grew so much lavender.
I have slept in a tent once (it was less than awesome); otherwise, I have never been camping.
What a beautiful photo walk. Makes me crave some elderberries, which aren’t read around here until sometime much later in the summer. The orange tent is beautiful, however I need something much taller that can accommodate a cot for an old man who has to get up several times in the night. For that reason, these days I generally opt for a cheap motel or staying with friends who own a camper.
Thank you for the Brian Wilson reference. Even if it was done for humor, It means a lot.
Oh it was my homage! And, I think so many little piece of his work, you can never get them out of your head!