Camping "Fun:" Part III

In case you missed it...

 Camping "Fun:" Part 1

Camping "Fun:" Part II

Savannah had carefully planned out our packing supplies to the nearest detail (Okay...as a non-coffee drinker, she overlooked the creamer and sugar but, really, how important are THEY? Quick on his feet, Brad tried to improvise by offering us butter and a marshmallow as substitutions. Horrified, Sydney and I checked our calendars to make sure it wasn't April 1st.). For my comfort, she had blown up an air mattress that would've given "The Princess and The Pea" a run for its money. So lovely except with the (slight...minimal...barely worth mentioning) weight differential between Brad and I, our bed doubled as a see-saw. Imagine Colonial American pan scales. Yeah. A slight shift in movement from me could cause Brad to rocket through the roof of our tent. For herself and Sydney, Savannah had procured inflatable floor mats that resembled oversized bubble wrap. Unfortunately, Savannah's had a small leak but she fixed that problem by secretly switching with Sydney the next night. "How was it?" I asked Sydney on our first morning. "Fine on my back or stomach but side-sleeping was the worst," she reported. "So the secret is distribution of weight," I nodded, "like laying on a bed of nails." After her second night, Sydney would have considered a bed of nails an upgrade.

Despite my comfortable accommodations, I had difficulty sleeping. Cradled as we were, tucked between LA and San Diego, the two cities cast an illuminated glow as cozy as any nightlight. The rhythmic roar of the Los Angeles freeway drowned out the annoying sound of the Pacific Ocean. A fleet of naval cruisers filled the horizon like gentle fireflies. The thrumming of passing helicopters was a soothing experience similar to that of a baby who can both feel and hear her mother's heart in the womb. Ahhh...and those fifteen minute intervals of the high-speed passenger train! Who needs the subtle sounds of a grandfather clock? And to be so close to nature! As a poet, I wasn't sure what to make of the half dozen crows crammed onto the skeletal remains of a dead tree, eyeing Sydney and I as we walked wearily along the desolate trail. I wasn't sure how to process the story of Brad and Savannah's hiking expedition whereupon they encountered a coyote. "He'll run off as we get closer," Brad reassured Savannah. "Dad...he's not running off." "He'll run off if we make a lot of noise," Brad said, clapping his hands. "Dad...he's not running off." "Never mind," Brad said, "this trail over here looks good." 

I read the infestation of posted signs about the infestation of Argentinian ants and learned, by their extensive list of which environmentally-aggressive products NOT to use to get rid of them,  exactly HOW to get rid of them. I handed my husband a list. "What's this?" Brad had asked before leaving for his hiking trip where he was almost killed in a vicious coyote attack. "Comet. Ajax. Draino," he read. "What about a Brillo pad?" he asked. I frowned. "Why would I need that?" "For your brill-ant plan."

So I was disappointed to discover that, during my three hours of deep, restful sleep, I missed the magic. 

Rising in the morning, Sydney and I were channeling our inner pioneers, gamely sipping our piping hot black coffee. "It hurts my hand," I whimpered. "The silicone wrap around the cup is supposed to protect your hand," my daughter informed me. Brad wordlessly traded his mug with my camping cup. Wide-eyed with wonder, Sydney suddenly gestured to us, directing our gaze to a neighboring tent. We watched, incredulously, as a little gray rabbit rose up on its back legs and scratched at the tent entrance with its furry little front paw. "This. Cannot. Be. Real." I whispered, turning to Savannah. "Did you order US a wake-up bunny?"  "That explains it," Brad said nodding. "Explains what?" I asked, still stunned by what I'd witnessed. "Last night there was a scratching on our tent but I didn't dare investigate because you'd finally fallen asleep and I didn't want to freak you out." 

I stared at him, horrified. I'd heard the campfire story of The Hook more times than I could count. I saw Brad's picture of the coyote. I knew, deep in my heart, what those ravens represented. I watch the news.  My husband opted to just LIE THERE while our very lived hinged on the balance?  While some unknown entity lurked nearly? "Besides," he said, "if I had attempted to evacuate the air mattress, I risked having you capsize and possibly crush Sydney." "If only," Sydney muttered, discreetly dumping her coffee near a sand mound which may or may not have been the starter home of an Argentinian ant colony. Savannah held up her still-hot pot. "More coffee, anyone?" "Is there rabbit room service, too?" I wondered.