Scene 3 –In Quest
of Solitude (continuation of previous blog – Go with the Flow)

Camp Buddy, back from his scouting ride, minus County Commissioner smile, informs that we are moving camp. He expounds that since we chose our campsite, neighboring encampments have mushroomed to a Burning Man-sized enclave, that we will get on a jeep road to head to a remote, remote area. We break down camp and head out.

We drive through the district of suddenly relaxed 4^th-of-July celebrants hanging out in their camps, possibly gathering their second wind for the night’s festivities. We take this jeep road, then that jeep road in search of our envisioned remote camp. After a few hours and jeep-road miles, we find a small quiet-looking spot on our planet that might avail itself to the primary objective of our camp-trip goal: quiet, solitude, peace.

We get out, inspect the campsite, settle for the spot – it seems off the beaten path. We set up camp again, Camp Buddy cooks, I do camp dishes. Always. Camp Buddy plays guitar, but exhausted, I head to the new master suite and my bed. Once laying there, I look through a window that straddles the new tent ceiling and wall. I see stars. It’s beautiful. I send kudos to the tent engineer who thought to put the window where I can lay in bed and look out at our amazing universe. More kudos to the Lead Designer of these magical, mystical heavens. Who would ever have thought to create stars – of all things??? I roll my head to check out the view from the matching ceiling window on the other side of the tent. Another shot at the stars and I think about this Mystery we are all partaking in. Stardust sprinkles a lullaby mist and soon I am singing Zzzzz’s.     

In the wee hours, we are jarred awake by headlights shining through our tent, motors whirring, and Mardi Gras voices. Again. In our remote, remote camp location. Camp Buddy stands up and looks out the window and says there is a convoy of four trucks, four-wheeling through. Each truck in the Mardi-Gras-4^th-of-July procession progresses slowly by our camp, one at a time. Once the last truck exits through, we are a bit relieved. But we hear the trucks come to a halt within earshot of camp, where they decide to turn up the music audio base and continue celebrating for a half hour (or so). Finally, we hear them pick up the party and loop their way down the hill in the other direction. 

Frustrated and tired,
and tired of being frustrated, we finally doze off…

To be continued…