Alone in the Woods
I am alone. The high schoolers who were camping across the way from me abandoned camp early. They were complaining that it was hot, that there was nothing to do, that they had no signal, that they were bored, so they packed up their dad's truck, and left a day early. Every campsite is marked with the last name of person staying there and the length of stay. They arrived yesterday were supposed to leave tomorrow, just as I am, but they are cowards, they are fools, they are weak. And now they are gone.
I am alone in the tent camping part of the state park. There are only three tent campsites. They are off a mountain biking trail that connects to the woodpecker trail and the beaver trail on opposite end of the park. It's isolated. Other than the other tent campsites, you can't really see anything through the woods. Sometimes you can hear the engine of an old motorhome rumble by up on the RV loop. But other than that, it's just me, the deer, the birds, and this asshole yellow jacket that's stuck inside my gazebo. He can't get out. He doesn't understand the door is wide open. Why do you keep flying the other way, stupid? How can these creatures have existed for millions of years and not be able to escape a gazebo with the door open? But I digress.
Now I'm alone. And the kids leaving got me wondering: why am I still here? Why am I here in the first place? Why did I come out to the middle of Georgia on days when it's supposed to be 96 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, 60-70% humidity? Why did I come and choose to sleep outside, under the stars, surrounded by bugs and lizards and asshole yellow jackets, who are, again, still stuck in my gazebo? Why did I do this?
I know why I did this. It's embarrassing. I'm trying to prove myself. I want to prove that I can do fun things. I can be adventurous. That I can make good use of a DSLR camera. And so months ago, on a petty whim, I bought a tent. I bought a gazebo. I bought a folding army cot, a sleeping pad, a sleeping bag, and a little mallet with a hook at the end to pull out tent pegs that I don't really need because I just use my foot. But whatever, at least now I've got a mallet to protect myself Old Boy style.
I bought all this stuff and now I've got to use it. We have four day work weeks in the summer so I figured I'll use those to go camping. Friday through Sunday. This is my first week. It's the first time I've been camping in probably 30 years. I have no experience doing this. I have no wilderness skills, no survival skills. I have a Leatherman and a cool little EDC flashlight. Other than that, I'm helpless as a babe in the woods. (Not that I'm saying that I'm a babe, but I kind of am. I'm kind of hot stuff. And I'm in the woods.)
But here I am, alone. Sitting in the woods. And reader, let me tell you something: I am having the time of my life.
This is super relaxing. I'm recording this on a voice recorder that's not connected to the internet. The service out here is spotty. When I walk up towards the front of the park I get a few bars. But other than that, nothing. I'm cut off from the world. I'm isolated. I'm writing. I'm reading. I'm walking through the forest, tripping over roots. Seeing alligators. Seeing turtles. Scaring beavers and deer. This trip has been rejuvenating.
It's something that I've already started trying to figure out how I can do it better. I need to pack better, for one thing. Too many bags. I need a little side table which I've already ordered. I need a fly swatter or something to kill these bugs that get inside my gazebo and won't get out. I don't want to kill you, Yellow Jacket, you deserve to live just as much as I do, but seriously, I want to sit in my chair inside the gazebo and drink a Coca-Cola Classic. That's what I'm here to do.
But really, what this has shown me is that I can disconnect, I can be on my own, I can thrive on my own. It's one of the things I worry about having Parkinson's. I fear that there will come a time when I won't be able to live on my own, where I'll be in a home, having someone feed me pudding. Not yet, though, even though my hand is shaking uncontrollably as I hold this voice recorder and I almost fell flat on my face walking across the boardwalk today on the woodpecker trail.
I've still got it. I can survive a weekend in the woods, or sort of in the woods, in a state park version of the woods. I can rough it. I can camp. I can use my not-so-fancy-anymore DSLR camera to take mediocre pictures. I can write. I'm working on a photo essay of my little adventures like I used to do back in the day.
As much as I like to be by myself, I've had trouble being alone the last few years. I had some personal issues I needed to deal with, then medical issues, now personal issues again. But this camping thing, I'm digging it.
Next week I go up further north, up to a campsite that's on the banks of a lake, or maybe it's a river. I don't know, some sort of water. better chance of getting devoured by an alligator. Then the week after that, it's a solo trip to Disney World before going to a conference in Orlando.
Next week, it will be four years since I moved to Georgia. Things did not go as planned, at least not for me. But four years later, I'm finally doing the things I'd planned on doing when I first moved here. For the next three weeks, I'm going to truly enjoy life. Hopefully, the good vibes will continue after three weeks. Or I'll lose my house and have to start everything over again. One or the other.
