Got a light?
Camping helps The Housecoated One find his inner flame
John Scoles
I went camping last weekend, and when I got back to town I
couldn’t remember my phone number right away.
I don’t know exactly what that meant, but I think it
might have had something to do with how camping helps us to
let go of all the crazy thoughts we hold on to far too much
and get back to where we really belong.
I needed to know my phone number in order to rent a movie
to watch on my television set. The movie was called TransAmerica,
and the people in it went camping, too. Their experience in
the great outdoors wasn’t anywhere near as relaxing
as mine, but I think they also learned a lot about belonging.
Campfires are, of course, the original television sets. Their
soft, glowing light is easy on the eyes, and they help pass
the time before bed. But while television tends to keep people
quiet, campfires usually get folks laughing and singing and
telling stories. I guess you could say that happy campers
are the finger that fondles the mute button on Mother Nature’s
remote control.
I’ve done a lot of camping in a lot of places. I’ve
been a tree planter sleeping in a tent in a parking lot in
Tumbler Ridge, B.C., for a month; I’ve been a drifter
curled up in a sleeping bag outside the Gare du Nord in downtown
Paris; I’ve been awakened in my van by some old guy
combing my Canyon Lake, Tex., campsite with a metal detector
at six o’clock in the morning; and I’ve lived
in an abandoned farmhouse near St. Lupicin, Man., for two
whole summers.
Most outdoor types think living in big cities is being totally
disconnected from nature. But when you see a raccoon determinedly
guarding a Safeway birthday cake, or a mother duck leading
her ducklings across a busy downtown street, it’s hard
not to feel like we’re trying pretty hard to pretend
that the forest isn’t all around us.
All life is camping, I suppose — some of it with nicer
facilities. When it comes right down to it, what you’re
laying the cash out for when you pay rent or a mortgage is
a bathroom. Everything else is gravy.
And when people leave their birthplaces to go out into the
world and get a job and meet new friends and accumulate possessions
and money and all the things that weigh us down, they’re
just gathering sticks. They’re just collecting firewood
to keep the blaze of life alive.
It can be scary out there in the woods, what with all the
creatures and the little mucky spots where your feet can get
stuck. It’s good to go out in twos and to take a little
bit of the fire with you. Sometimes that little bit of the
fire looks like a smile, and sometimes it looks like a helping
hand. Sometimes it sounds like music, and sometimes you can’t
see or hear it at all.
Sometimes that little bit of the fire is just a dream. And
it’s amazing how even if you forget your phone number
that little glow always helps you find your way back to where
you belong.
John Scoles is president and janitor of Times Change(d) High
& Lonesome Club. |
Uptown
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