camping . disasters

Here's something you experienced campers already know, but that I am just discovering: camping is a lot of freakin' hard work! And, you just might get killed doing it. Let me explain.

On my first night of camping near Asheville, North Carolina, I pulled into the French Broad River Campgrounds and set up my Tail Veil just a few feet from the river. All seemed perfect . . . the gentle breeze, the lulling sound of the river . . . the crane that settled just a few feet offshore and invited me to view it for almost an hour. 

I sat and wrote and dozed and made some coffee. Totally cool.

Coffee Time on the French Broad River

Night came. After cooking a simple supper of soup and cornbread, and pretty tired from the day, I settled in and soon fell asleep. In the middle of the night I was startled awake by a huge "CRRRACCCCK" and awoke with flashlights dancing over my tent and people screaming, "Are you all right?" I crawled out, still half asleep. A huge tree limb had fallen, smashing the picnic table several feet from my tent in half.

The Tree Branch That Almost Took Me Out 

Wow.

The next morning, I moved my campsite away from the tree, which still had a number of dead limbs on it, hence formulatingd ZEN GYPSY RULE #1 : Always scout the area, up down and all around, before you set up camp. Moving camp was a bit of a chore, as I was already a bit sleep-deprived. In the midst of setting up, a huge storm blew in. Nothing was battened down yet and there was much thunder and lightning. I jumped in the van and rode it out, but when I emerged, I saw that my entire tent had gotten soaked, including my sleeping bag.

Yikes!

Back to square one. I poured the water out of the tent, hung the sleeping bag on some bungee cords I stretched between a couple of trees, and once the tent was swabbed out completely, set everything back up. This time, I used a 20' x 24' tarp I had on board to completely surround the tent. It took me a few tries to get it right, and to gather rocks from the river to hold it down. I wasn't taking any chances this time, leading to ZEN GYPSY RULE #2: Always have a back-up plan and gear. 

Half Completed Second Camp Set-up After the Storm

Just as I finished, another, even more violent storm swept through, but thankfully this time I stayed nice and dry. I had extra quilts and pillows on board, so I spent a very blissful night. As a reward for almost extinguishing my life, the campground gave me an extra day for free, which was much appreciated.

(Note: I have since ordered and used a new tent, one that doesn't leak!)

Clearly it was time for a glamping reward. The next day,I made a much-needed appointment in Asheville to get my hair cut before I moved on to the next leg of my journey. Pamela at Studio Chavarria did a fabulous job of cleaning me up and away I went, a bit traumatized, but now transformed (in a number of ways). But alas, I was a Camping Virgin no more.

All patched up and ready to rumble!

May your own travels be safe (and glamorous) ones,

Karen  

heart . strings

The French Broad River in Asheville, North Carolina

My somewhat catastrophic and rather humorous first foray as a Camping Virgin in North Carolina was followed by two blissful weeks visiting my best friend, Patti Edmon, her husband, Jim, and their amazing now-all-grown-up children, Dylan and Alice, in Lexington, Kentucky. 

To sit in our pjs and savor our morning coffee (as we often did when we were younger, dating back some 47 years ago) and to allow the conversation to wander and to deepen, layer upon layer, without any constraint of time, was an undeniable gift. But then, it seems that these windows of time have always opened magically for Patti and I, whenever we most needed them. This was certainly one of them for me as I continued to ponder the meaning of place, home, and family.

Patti and Jim, who are both artists, took me to their place on the lake for several days, where we floated for hours, eye-level with the clear, warm water, gazing at the shale cliffs and wildlife. I felt like I was in a huge flotation tank as little by little my psyche relaxed and became one with the body of the lake, the trees, the hawks wheeling above.

To share this special place with them will forever be one of my favorite memories. And, of course, to say 'goodbye' to Patti and her family was just not an option. Never was, never will be. They are just so dear to me!

* * * 

Lexington, where I lived for a decade, was a place of healing for me back when my daughter, Marina, was small and we moved from Southern California to the Bell Court area to be near Jim and Patti. It became a center for many firm friendships that have endured over twenty years. 

The very talented fabric artist and outdoorswoman Annie L'Esperance and her daughter, Claire (who now has Ellie, a beautiful daughter of her own) were among the first people we met in the neighborhood. My daughter and Claire became besties the moment they met and continue to enjoy a beautiful friendship, even from afar. Before I left, Annie gifted me with a T-shirt saying, "Keep it Simple," which has become my mantra everything time I set up camp. It has already served me well.

Mikal Shafer and her daughter, Hannah, who walked hand-in-hand with Marina on her first day of Kindergarten, and instantly became a part of our family, continue to be an beloved part of our extended lives. Mikal is also an amazing artist in many media, including quilting, and a spiritual leader who taught me long ago, by her excellent example, the value of being an active part of a community.

And then there were my adopted children, Meadow, Tracy and Melissa and Alison . . . a whole chapter in itself. Leaving Lexington again brought up a lot of memories of my extraordinary life here and I must say that my heart was torn. Should I go or should I stay?

* * *

What was I doing and where was I going? I really did not have a clue other than having been called on this journey. Perhaps it was a lesson in being present and allowing things to unfold. Perhaps it was to find myself again after years of devoting myself to the needs of others. Or perhaps it was to be reminded that it is who we love, not where we live, that is most important.

My dear zen sister and nature lover Ann Bowe, who, like Mikal, is a garden artist, horticultural expert (and recently an internet photographer of note) offered something recently that I found very poignant. "When we travel," she said, "we discover pieces of ourselves that we didn't know were there. All the usual energetic things that are part of our ordinary lives are absent, and we are forced back to the essence of who we are." She felt that my travels were a kind of mental and spiritual cleanse, an opportunity to shed old habits and thought processes.

I think she may be right. I feel I am being constantly tested on this trip and forced to really pay attention to every detail, to revise my thinking, upside-down and inside-out, of any idea I may have had of what should be--or could be. 

To let go of what no longer serves us, and to treasure those things that are nurturing and spiritually nutritious is a kind of wisdom that only comes at the end of a long road and many hardships for some, like me. But around every corner, at every turn, no matter how difficult things are or become, I have found magic and truth and love and beauty beyond measure.

In the end, something awaited. I didn't know exactly what, but I knew that it would have its own sacred story. It was time to travel on.

What an amazing life this is and how blessed I am to be a Zen Gypsy now and to be allowed to immerse myself in what my mentor/mother/friend Dr. Annemarie Roeper always called, "The Mystery." 

May your own travels bring you great wisdom & joy,

Karen

in praise . ky state parks

Sunrise at Kenlake State Park, Kentucky

After a tear-filled departure from Lexington, my first stop on my Zen Gypsy adventure was on a pristine reservoir at the Kenlake State Park on Kentucky Lake in the western part of the state. It was a hard days' drive, but when I arrived, a cool breeze was stirring and I found that my campsite was a stone's throw from of the water, adjacent to the woods. A small path wound from my tent door down to a small rocky beach, where the waves lapped and lulled, kissing the shore. It was quiet and secluded -- a little bit of heaven.

My Home Away From Home

Camp Setup

This was a small campground which had been recommended by my dear friend Annie L'Esperance, with only a few people staying the night. I set up my tent in no time flat and even had time to secure the hammock before night descended and the familiar symphony of Southern night creatures began their creative chorus. I'd already discovered that earplugs and an eye mask were glamping essentials if I were to get my beauty sleep, but stopping up my ears only partially quelled the sound of insect after insect beginning its desperate mating solo, each louder, more irritating and erratic than the last.

Those who live in Kentucky are well used to this nightly cacophony, and I suppose I was too when I lived there, but it took me a bit off guard. It felt like water torture or someone continuously drilling into your brain . . . and I just had to laugh. Nature. In all her glory. Completely indifferent to anyone with the least desire to sleep.

The Only Quiet Member of My Insect Friends

The next morning, I made a nice big mug of Peet's coffee and an omelet of egg whites, spinach and sundried tomatoes on my BioLite stove and set out to see what I could see. I'd hoped to find a place on the lake to swim, but there really wasn't a public beach to be found. The local folks just looked at me quizzically when I asked where I could swim. Swim? they universally responded. Don't know about that. Indeed, when I looked around the lake, no one was in the water. I suppose if you lived and worked on a lake, the appeal of it might lessen, but still, I thought it a bit odd.

Finally, Joe, a helpful park ranger had a suggestion: The lodge. There's a pool there. They'll let you in. Well, okay, that was progress, though I was a bit disappointed not to get into the lake water. It was why I'd come, in part. I suppose I could have gone in just about anywhere, but there was really no one around and somehow, not knowing this lake or anything about its currents or shoreline, made me slightly uneasy. 

The lodge turned out to be a godsend as the afternoon heat and humidity rocketed into the upper 90s. I found a nice cool spot in the coffee shop and caught up on my emails, did quite a bit of writing while the hummingbirds circled the wildflowers outside, and when the air conditioning got a little too icy, headed to the pool which had a stellar view of the lake.

Kentucky state parks are well known for their hospitality and their home-cooked cuisine. The waitress, who was friendly and kept bringing me fresh cups of coffee, unasked, while I was writing, confirmed that the catfish that day was as good as it got. She was right and I had a mighty tasty lunch (one of the very few meals I haven't cooked at campsite.) By the time the temperature had begun to drop, I felt rested and refreshed, and so I headed back to my tent for a glass of wine and some fruit and crackers for dinner and just in time to witness a most lovely sunset.

The insect barrage began once again, but this time I was ready for the buggers. Two pillows plastered over my ears, in addition to earplugs, allowed me a blissful sleep. The next morning, I repeated my breakfast ritual with just coffee and when my neighbors gave a friendly wave, I walked over and we chatted a bit. They were sweet folks who owned a farm in Illinois. They were having a bit of trouble with their GPS and I tried to troubleshoot it for them to no avail. We had a nice conversation about farming and we wished each other well, fellow travelers all.

I realized that it would have been nice to have had an extra day to enjoy things and vowed that from here on in I would reserve sites for three days instead of two. Two days were just not quite enough time once you set up and broke down your campsite. And so, I was on my way once again. This time to Missouri . . .

May your own travels

not drive you buggy,

Karen

mermaid . in missouri

Testing the Waters in Missouri

I'd never been to Missouri and so I really had no expectations about what I would find. I had such a good time at my last campsite in Kentucky, though, that I decided to make a reservation at another state park, this time on the Cuivre River.

I passed uneventfully through the rest of western Kentucky. The city of St. Louis, (except for its signature arch) seemed an unending serpentine stretch of the same-old-same-old businesses and buildings you see everywhere. Everywhere is Everywhere Now. I had no desire to stop and was elated when the city finally dwindled away and I was back out into the countryside at last.

At first the route to the campground did not look very promising. It was scruffy country, not too interesting—a few straggly wildflowers and one rundown combination filling station/store along the way, with no indication of the pleasures that lay ahead.

But once I turned off the highway, the drive into Cuivre River State Park, near Troy, Missouri, was simply lovely, with gentle, winding hills of open, light-filled woodlands. My entire mood changed, and a sense of joyful expectation erased all of my road fatigue.

I pulled into the campsite, which I now know is somewhat typical of RV parks in the sense that there were already a lot of rigs there, lined up like sardines, some with American flags flying and country music playing balefully in the background. This was not my idea of sequestering myself in nature, but for these first few forays they were places to pitch my tent in relative safety while I explored the countryside. They had electric access and water pumps at each site. And bathhouses. Hot water! Pretty plush for camping!

My campsite had little shade, in fact it was out in the baking, blazing sun. It was already 95 degrees while I was setting up and I think I was close to having heat stroke, for when I glanced in my car mirror, my face was fire-engine red and I was feeling faint despite practically inhaling bottles of water. I threw all my sleeping gear in the tent, pulled on my suit and headed to the water.

The Beach Area at Cuivre River

There was a charming swimming beach just moments from my door where the Cuivre River eddied in to a smallish bay, surrounded by lush green woodland and a plentitude of birds. The water was murky green and warm near shore, but that didn't deter me. I dove in and paddled out under that cornflower blue sky out to where the deeper coolness caressed my tired feet and the turtles poked their heads up, curious and shy. I swam about happy as could be for several hours until the sun began to dip down. I felt like a re-baptized baby and emerged at last in a state of indescribable bliss.

When I got back to my tent, the "camp host" happened by. These hosts were typically elderly people on hand to answer questions and this one was as helpful as could be. I asked him about possibly moving my campsite to a shadier spot. He consulted his registry. Sure 'nuf, he confirmed. He pointed out a few potential places and although it seemed shameful to be reduplicating my efforts, before long, I had everything set up again under some nice shady trees.

Ahhh! I made a cocktail and had a little snack and crawled into my tent feeling all nice and toasty from being on the water for so long. I was exhausted in a way that only being out in the fresh air can make one. After my long day on the road, I fell into a mind-numbing slumber. In fact, I don't even remember going to sleep. I must have really been tired!

The next day was as close to perfection as I could imagine. It promised to be another scorcher and the park attendant suggested a walk up Big Sugar Creek as a way to cool off. I took her advice and found the creek easily thanks to her good directions. It was as idyllic a place as she'd described, with cool, cold water, sometimes waist deep that invited you to stroll upstream. I was the only person there, which I later discovered was almost unheard of. I walked the creek about a half a mile, accompanied by minnows, crawfish and waterstriders, admiring the stones on the creek bottom and that littered the shore. Many were embedded with fossils and they were of many colors and shapes, quite fascinating.

I later learned what a treasure this area is, a combination of woodland, prairie and savanna, with rare species such as the cerulean warbler, ringed salamander, false yellow mallow, eastern blazing star and buffalo clover, that call it home, to name a few.

Big Sugar Creek

The creek glimmered and gurgled along, giving way to deep green freshets and shallow rapids that rushed along their sandy, stony paths and issued a most happy childlike sound. I came to what looked like a rounded bowl of water that looked exceptionally deep. A swimming hole. I was so delighted!  hadn't seen one of these since I was a teenager roaming around the edges of Knickerbocker farm in upstate New York. The hole was as wide as it was deep. A fish flipped up and over near the far bank. Five-inch long fingerlings ventured up to nibble at my fingers.

The Swimming Hole

It seemed a most sacred place. I glided into the water softly, not wanting to disturb the ancient green quiet, the absolute serenity. I watched the birds bobbing about in the trees. I listened to the cries of animals coming from deep within the wood. I felt the cold water embracing me, tightening my skin, cooling my blood. And I floated like this for what seemed like hours, a mermaid in a dream. As I made my way back downstream, I wondered if I would ever have such an experience like that again. I felt blessed beyond belief.

Back at camp, new next door neighbors had appeared. They were a very nice family with young kids and thankfully the music they played was enjoyable and they were very pleasant to be around. I hadn't realized until that moment, though, that people came to campgrounds like this to socialize and party. It was the weekend after all and it was really an expected part of campground culture. I suddenly realized that I'd been spoiled by the the solitude and quietude I'd experienced earlier, but this sense of communal and festive fun was fine too.

I should mention that in all of my camping experiences thus far, I was the only one in a tent. The rest of the people were in everything from small, modest RVs to monster rigs almost as long as a city block. Okay, that's an exaggeration, but many of these vehicles probably cost around $250,000, which seemed somewhat out of proportion given that camp fees are generally about $25 a night. A word about that. $25 a night! Where in the world can you stay, surrounded by the most beautiful country imaginable, for $25 a night? And with water and electricity, hot showers, a camp store that doesn't charge an arm and a leg? State parks, that's where! I'm totally a fan!

We had a big thunderstorm storm blow in that night. In my haste to batten down the hatches, I left my cooler outside the tent. Bad move. The raccoons arrived at 3:00, mewling like a pack of cats, and tore the cooler up and ate all my perishable food. I had to ditch everything else that remained and then disinfect the cooler -- one mistake I won't make again! It totally freaked me out to have them just outside the tent door as they sounded very aggressive. They weren't about to get my lemon creme cookies, though. I had bear spray at the ready! Sleep after that was all but impossible as I was on guard the rest of the night for their possible return.

I had one more day on the water, blissfully paddling about and one more day hiking Sugar Creek and by nightfall I felt like the luckiest duck alive. I sat and wrote for a long while, made myself from dinner, (lunch turned out to be an indulgence—an old-fashioned ice cream sandwich from the camp store. OMG! So good!) and when I turned in, I slept like the proverbial log. I must have really been out, for in the morning my neighbors told me that I'd missed some good fuel for my blog. Fuel? What fuel? Apparently, late in the evening a couple in one of the campsites had gotten into a huge argument (probably having had a bit too much "fire water" my neighbor observed.) The woman had fled on foot, with their baby, and had made such a ruckus that the park ranger was called in to settle things down.

I hadn't a clue. I was off in zzzz-land while it this campground drama transpired. Rats! Missed it!

When I finally broke camp and said my goodbyes, I shed a small tear for my time in Missouri. It had been a wonderful pause in my travels, where I had really slowed down and taken in all that the sun and sky and wind and water had to offer. I'd been returned, temporarily, to a childlike state, a true gift. Now I would be on the road again, heading to a completely different landscape—the place of my birth out on the tallgrass prairie—in the great state of Kansas.

May You, Too, Find Your Own Sacred Places,

Karen