I’ve decided that July is my favorite month of the entire year. First of all, it hasn’t even started yet and it’s already amazing so that gives it ten automatic bonus points. Secondly, it’s a HOT month and it’s got Independence Day, strawberries, ice coffees, martinis on the deck, fireworks, parties, a visit from relatives, just about everything a girl could ever want. This past June was pretty great as well, action-packed as I got to visit my boyfriend’s sister and husband in New Jersey, got some nice vacation days, and yesterday….went camping.
I’ve camped a lot in my life; we always were washing our hair in a stream when we camped as kids, I camped with my high school at least once or twice a year, and sometimes we would even opt to camp out in a tent in our backyard while growing up. I was responsible for choosing our Senior Trip destination, and it was a trip to the White Mountains to stay in a remote hut on the Appalachian Trail. That all being said, I figure….I’m an all-around-kinda gal, the kind who can bike, run, walk, hike, camp, go out to a club, and hit up a Broadway musical with ease. I pride myself on the ability to blend in like a fox no matter my surroundings. However, this past weekend, in my attempts to prove myself unbreakable, I learned something new about myself (hint: it wasn’t how many litres of blood could be sucked out of my body by mosquitoes before I pass out and have to be brought to the ER).
The first lesson I learned was how little in life I can get by with. I already knew this, considering my paycheck is 350 or less a week, and I haven’t bought myself a new article of clothing in who-knows-how-long, but I re-learned it in our 1500 sq. ft. campsite where we had limited resources, and had to walk to toilet and hydrate ourselves.
Secondly, I learned the term “pit toilet” is not something that will ever be part of my vocabulary if I wish to remain OK. The campsites I have been to with my family, friends, and with school must’ve been the Ritz Carlton of campgrounds, because this one had nothing but a “pit toilet” (aka outhouse, poop shack, primitively basic shitter, three-holer, etc.). It was not really OK with me. Neither was peeing on the ground, so I opted for the “toilet”. Call me a Republican, but oh, how I longed to flush.
I learned that I can DO IT! Being in the outdoors for an entire evening, at my crotchety old age was a big accomplishment. I have stomach issues, I have sleep problems, and I have antsy-over-accomplishing disorder, so for me to settle down, sleep on the ground with little more than a blanket under me, swat bugs with my hand every five seconds and RELAX while my boyfriend rowed me around in a canoe was a major CHECK PLUS! I felt I had truly proven something to myself, and more importantly, how tough I was to the love of my life.
Major life lesson: Camping would be AWESOME if I could do it in my backyard, in the privacy of my own home, and with my stove, sink, and shower. In short, I absolutely LOVE being home! I also LOVE the big, bad outdoors and I hope someday the two are merged in a marriage that you only see in the movies. For that to happen, I need a home on a lake, or in the mountains by a babbling brook. Fortunately, because July is so busy, I’m getting my fix of mountain, camping, lakes, and plant medicine for the next 4 weeks. I’ll have to compare my blood pressure before and after all of this nature.
You know, I reckon I couldn’t be luckier. I’m gonna go get my bandana and play my harmonica. Sit tight ya’ll.