My first camping memory is from when I was around 6. I was sleeping in the back of a van (truck?) with my grandma. It is unclear why we were not in a tent. I think it was because of storms but 34 years and too many chemicals that could affect my brain later, I am not sure. All I know is the vehicle we were in was locked with me in it, and I had to pee. My grandma would not wake up. (She wasn’t dead, as I fully understand now, Old People just need to sleep! Let us be!). I wailed and banged and by some miracle, my dad heard me and saved me. At least, this is the version my memory has supplied and I’m sticking with it. (He still does this; not that long ago, he didn’t even know I was having The Shittiest Day and text me because he thought something was wrong and he should check in??)
Camping was part of our family identity. This is where I developed an obsession with Daddy longlegs spiders, even though I have a hatred for pretty much every other bug. Have you ever seen one of these things crawl across the top of a tent and look 100 times larger than they actually are? Well, when you realize they basically have no body and their legs are embarrassingly long, they don’t seem so scary and ever since I have enjoyed watching people squirm as I pick them up by their skinny legs any time I see one.
Camping mostly reminds me of my dad but the rest of my family was always in the periphery, —coming for a day or two to play cards or throwing a football in a green space. There are photos of me in campgrounds and State Parks all over Pennsylvania. It is no wonder I ended up in the mountains.
I didn’t do much camping as an adult until recently. If I am being honest, part of that was trying to remove myself from the place where I grew up— a place I considered backwards and small minded. But also, I love cities and I didn’t know or couldn’t expand my thinking to know, there is a way to love and experience both. This is a huge part of the reason why when I visited this area for the first time, with its mini cities dropped into a landscape of mountains, that I knew it was where I was meant to be.
Even during the periods of my life where I wasn’t fully embracing a life amongst trees, I still tried to find trails I could walk on because it is part of who I am. It proved difficult when I moved to Maryland.
I have tried to find something I like about every place I’ve lived but I really hated suburbia.
I did eventually find some trails and even found a trail with a waterfall. My favorite trail was only a few minutes from my house. As I’ve written about many times, I had a hard time being out in public after my mom was killed. My catastrophizing was intense. The first time I took a walk on a trail by myself, I cried. My favorite trail though - The MA & PA Trail in Harford County - felt like I was where I really wanted to be; no cookie cutter houses, no strip malls.
A woman was murdered on this trail two months ago. Her killer hasn’t been found. I can’t stop thinking about her; that her feet likely disrupted the same dirt mine did. Maybe, she too, thought she had found a spot she could breathe. It’s always a gamble, being a woman, existing in the world.
The first time I camped by myself as an adult was three years ago. I stayed in a cabin. I only cut myself once! I am proud of that trip, but it feels light years away.
I recently went on my first tent solo camping trip. This trip was a big deal for me, mainly because I was so excited to do this thing I loved, and it sounds silly— as I am 39 years old and have lived on my own since I was 18—but I wouldn’t have my dad there if I couldn’t get the tent set up or the fire started and I wanted to be able to say I did this thing on my own.
I did all that with ease, I am pretty skilled at making fires at this point and my borrowed tent was super easy to put up (also I watched a Youtube video before I left my house). I bought all the essentials that I didn’t already have, including a knife, which in itself felt like a huge victory. I am still leery of knives, although not to the degree I was in the first few years after my mom was killed.
I slept with the knife beside me, because men exist.
Prior to this trip, I stayed in an off-grid yurt for “Me Camp”, a few excerpts from my journal on that trip -
July 7th - Ticks - 1, Daddy Long Legs - 1, Weird White Bugs - Lots
Estimate I will have between 100-300 bug bites by the end of this trip. I almost cancelled because of the weather but really glad I didn’t. I thought about what Elliot Page said in his book when a friend gave him the advice, “You can always leave”. I should try to be more adventurous using this mindset. I think I am doing alone wrong. I think what I mean is I want to be able to go away for two days be myself. I don’t think I mean there’s no one who cares when I return.
July 8th - Baby inch worm - 1, large spider - 1
Loved waking up to the sounds of the woods. Since being in Morganton, I’ve thought I wanted a house where I could walk everywhere but this - birds & trees & slivers of sunlight over a mountain - this is why I moved to this area.
A woman at one of the stores I visited asked where I was visiting from, and I paused. Where am I visiting from?! I still can’t believe I live here. She was delighted when I said Morganton, she used to go antiquing there.
It’s been good for me to sit in silence, I really struggle with that. I am thinking about the time a few years ago when I was in Pennsylvania, and I was in such a bad place mentally and emotionally that I just randomly rented a cabin for the night because the thought of being around people made me want to crawl out of my skin.
I think that feeling was just loneliness masquerading as something else.
There were a few things going against me for this solo camping trip—it was brutally hot, and I was camping at a place I had never visited before. I chose my campsite based on what looked closest to the lake since I would be bringing my kayak (surprise! you cannot access the lake from the campsites, you are on a mountain dummy!)
I did a lot of things I loved— I laid in a hammock and read for hours, I kayaked, I made a mountain pie, I used my mini cast iron skillet I bought at an antique store on one of my first visits to North Carolina.
But ultimately, I had such an overwhelming feeling of loneliness that I cut my trip short because I knew it would be better for my mental health.
I’ve done many things alone, sometimes by choice and sometimes not but I have always felt like it was something I handled well. Sure, there are just some things that are more fun with other people—festivals and fancy dinners and anything that looks like a vacation—but I love my Sundays, where I walk downtown and spend a few hours reading at a brewery. This is a solo activity that suits me.
And I wanted camping to be that for me too. Because what is the alternative? Everyone I know is either 8 hours away or has a family and obligations. To be fair, I have not asked anyone to go camping with me, but stubbornly I have already decided that would be a burden. That I am a burden.
I cried the whole way home when I left. I couldn’t understand why it had affected me so much, why I was so sad. Not that long ago, I stayed in the aforementioned yurt that was basically camping and had a great time! Why was this so hard?
I’ve had a few weeks to think about it and there is the normal stuff I experience; I am not immune to loneliness just because I like having alone time but more than that, I think it was experiencing a loss. I won’t ever camp with my family again, at least not in the way I did when I was younger.
Realizing this might always be a solo activity that makes me sad, genuinely devastates me but the beautiful thing about life is I get to try again and if it doesn’t work out—
You (and I) can always leave.
“You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.”
― Mary Oliver
I’m on a self-imposed month-long FB and IG break for my mental health. Received the email with your latest work, read it, and knew that I had to create a Radical account just to tell you how much I loved this piece. “…but the beautiful thing about life is I get to try again and if it doesn’t work out—You (and I) can always leave.” I really need to live that way. Also, it had me thinking about being alone vs loneliness—perhaps you’ve written on this before? It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately as relationships have changed.