I arrived for my ten-day vacation on the mountain around 1 pm. The road progressively narrows as you get closer and there comes a point when there isn’t a road at all. I worried about getting all the stuff I’d packed to the campsite where the husband and I had pitched our tent almost two weeks ago.

Fortunately, I found a prime parking spot at the top of the hill that leads into the camp. I managed to carry the two storage bins, and loose bulk items down the steep road in just two trips with the help of a wheelbarrow. Two more trips from the entrance to our campsite. Early on I realized this was an exercise in maintaining addictions. “How much of this shit do I really need,” I thought. Camp stove and camp fuel for morning coffee, snack food, two bottles of wine, clothes for myself and an outfit for Sister Ann Wenita Morelove—wait. Where’s my suitcase?

Hahaha! I left my suitcase with all of my clothes in it in the bedroom back home. I was able to get one bar off cell service and ask the husband (who was coming at some later time; maybe today, maybe tomorrow) to bring it with him.

I moved my stuff to the campsite, happy to see that the tent was still standing and relatively dry. I did a little organizing and walked the wheelbarrow back to the main gathering area. I couldn’t help comparing my stuff to others folks’ stuff. Honestly I wasn’t doing too badly. Still, next time I’m going to try to be more intentional and bring less.

“Are you parked at the top of the hill?” asked one of the year-round residents.
“Yes,” I replied.
“You’ll need to move your car. Those spots are for folks who are working the event this week. Come on; I’ll show you where to park it and drive you back.”

We walked back up the hill and and basically drove into wilderness. It was like driving on a deer trail. If it rains anymore this week there’s no way I’ll be able to get my car out. Maybe this is why people end up staying here year round.

Another trek back to our tent. I received a text from the husband saying he was on his way. He asked much where he should park. “Park at the top of the hill and we’ll works it out after you get here,” I replied. No sense in circumventing the full experience.

When I got to the tent I promptly fell asleep to the sound of gently falling rain. Perfection.

I don’t know how much time passed but the sound of the tent door being unzipped woke me. It was the husband. He had more stuff with him, including my suitcase. He carried it without the help of a wheelbarrow. He more or less through the stuff into the tent, stripped off his clothes that were wet from rain and sweat, and fell asleep.

Camping is great for sleeping. Anytime is nap time. I anticipate many more naps to come. I just might take one now.