Dainty Camping

Camping in the woods alone with a six-year-old child on Sunday night, brought up some primal fears and maternal instincts, but mostly the desire to trade in my modern kitchen for an old fashion Merchant's wife hearth with a large iron cauldron. Cooking stew over an outdoor fire pit with a grill was magical.

[The Stew is under the plate with polenta waffers]... It wasn't exactly roughing it, with deli meat, a jar of pesto, and a pre-made polenta roll, to add to our roasted bell pepper appetizers, but I did keep three sharp knives next to my sleeping bag for protection, before we were joined at 10pm by my husband. Although, this type of behavior isn't divergent from my normal keep-an-ax-by-the-bed and a Japanese-sword-under-my-pillow safety regimen! I considered sleeping in my Doc Martin's kick-ass knee-high boots, because they make me feel like a warrior, but opted for bare feet instead. I've found bare feet to maneuver with haste remarkably well along an earthen floor. We did have some nearby neighbors left at camp a quarter mile down the road on each side.

I think I slept better among the pines on the firm ground, than at home on a futon. Must have been the warbling lullaby of the skunk who paced our campsite through the night, the chirping crickets, and the moonlight. Also, I prefer peeing outdoors, it's a basic human need to connect with the earth.