Camp Out

When I was little, I’d like nothing better than to drape a blanket over a couple of chairs in the middle of the living room rug and call it a camp out. When I got a little older and the hay mow in the barn got full, one of my favorite pastimes was to a build a tunnel out of hay bales leading to a central cavity which I liked to call a “hay fort.” Now I know I told some of you I was going to camp out at Lake Tahoe this weekend to escape the 105-degree Sacramento heat.  But daily highs have come down into the more tolerable mid-90’s. Accordingly, I have decided to pitch a tent in the back yard and relive the glory days of my misspent youth. So sue me.

 

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Now on the one hand, Sam Clemens was right when he spoke in praise of travel as a way to get beyond the parochial limits of life in a single place:

 

“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all one’s lifetime.”

― Mark Twain, The Innocents Abroad / Roughing It

 

On the other hand, all due respect to Mr. Twain and his folksy wit, but growing roses requires one to be in the same spot consistently to regularly water the same old ground – as the back yard at 392 Midstream will attest.

 

 

 

So then, we have this conundrum:  Which is better:  Roses? Or the open-mindedness of the open road? As a seasoned hay-fort veteran of yore, I choose both. Well, at least as far as my back yard is concerned. And at least for tonight – one night only. I mean, roses or no roses, there’s no sense getting carried away here. Right, Sam?