Happy Dishwasher three miles out on a six mile loop trail from camp.
It’s good and bad, like everything. I am getting stressed out learning how to drive and back the Airstream and that tension spills over onto the woman sometimes, despite my best efforts. I got a lot to learn. We had to replace the house batteries because the ones we had were totally dead. We learned about flushing the air from the water lines so the pump works correctly. We learned how to remove and fill the propane tanks. How to fill the freshwater tank. How to inflate the tires properly! I had to beg quarters from strangers at a gas station to get air into our tires which was a great lesson in humility and judgement.
It gets cold at night. It was 31 in the trailer when I got up this morning. There’s a lot of heating up that has to happen before the woman will venture out of the cozy bed. (By the way, that bed is the MOST awesome bed I’ve yet encountered. I love it superbad.)
I am bad at backing and I scratched up the street side of the Airstream yesterday trying to fit the trailer between two trees in the windy, narrow campsite road. I feel bad about it. But it also is a badge of good use, you know, like we’re pushing it out there. Going into the wild.
The dog pees her bed at night rather than go out into the cold, which is a pain. She’s blind and half crippled and the cold makes her move slow. Although last night she took off when I opened the door and I had to chase her in the dark- so she’s still got some spark in her. But she likes it when we drive and she can sleep between our seats against the motor hood, nice and warm and vibrationy. She just tolerates being in camp.
Getting out of camp on the trail was pure heaven. Silence and wildness and vast openness, the sun and moon in the clear blue sky, the ancient rocks and sand and trees and desert life all around me. The trail led through narrow canyons, wide mesas, and climbed ridge lines and peaks, up and down, around, in and out of sunshine and shadow, brisk, biting wind and warm still silence in the lees, the sense that my presence there was ghostly, ephemeral, compared to the elemental world I was moving through. I found a warm, sheltered, sunlit spot and sat meditation on a granite outcropping and opened my whole self to the sky and to the earth and was blown through completely, like a husk that dried up and then scattered in the wind.
A vast emptiness that was yet inhabited.
This may yet cure my soul. It is worth everything to find out.