Alone in the Forest

Weather has been a big factor in my life since I started living in a van. My first summer on the road, I drove through the northern U.S. believing that I’d find mostly temperatures in the mid-70’s. By the time I hit South Dakota it was 102 degrees.  I feared for my and Cosmo’s health, in a metal box baking in the sun. In the fall, I was in the mountains and woke up one morning to find it snowing outside.  Again, I worried about my pipes freezing and bursting and the crazy repair problems that could cause.

I woke up Sunday morning with the music of rain on my roof and tapping on my windows and pinging on metal parts. I think I’ve mentioned before that I have a musical van when it rains. It sounds a lot like a kalimba or thumb harp. It can be quite mesmerizing. The extreme heat had broken, and I could feel a cool breeze coming through my windows, which had all been wide open for weeks.  And I looked outside and saw mud. Lots and lots of mud, as far as the eye could see.  I’d experienced this mud briefly back in May at Marshall Lake. It is thick, dark, reddish-brown clay. It sticks to shoes (and dog feet) in an unbelievable way. If you’ve ever taken a pottery class, then you know the consistency of pottery clay.  And you may be familiar with slip, the liquid version of that clay when mixed with copious amounts of water.  Now imagine a lawn made of clay, with an inch coating of slip and you will know where I was living earlier this week.

When the inevitable happened, and Cosmo had to go out to pee, I was ready, or so I thought.  I got a wash basin from under the sink and filled it with two inches of water.  We went outside and I put the basin in front of the van door and laid his furry (think Muppet fur) dog bed beside it. As we walked, the ground below me tried to suck the flip-flops off my feet. Each step produced a sucking sound and as I raised a foot, clenching my toes tightly to keep the flip flop on, I pulled up big clods of earth with it.

The forest was beautiful, and the fresh scents were intoxicating, but it was difficult to enjoy when I saw the thick, dark clay making a set of snowshoes for Cosmo. As we got back to the van, I pushed his front paws into the dishpan of water and watched it instantly turn dark and swampy.  He was a good sport and let me wash between his toes and pads.  I pulled his front paws onto the furry dog bed and tried to get his back feet into the water. He seemed to alternate between thinking it was a new game and then believing I was purposely torturing him.  I thought I did a pretty good job of dislodging the thick globs of clay from his feet, but when he went inside, every step produced a dark dog paw print on my freshly washed throw rugs.

I saw him heading toward the bed, and managed to keep him off momentarily, but there was really no place else to go in the tiny space. I got a washcloth and dabbed at his paws some more, but no matter how many times I rinsed the washcloth and wiped his paws, the result was the same—the washcloth turned almost black, and he continued to leave paw prints on the rug.  I eventually gave up, knowing how futile this was and then realizing that we’d only gone out for our morning pee.  I’d feed him and within a half hour we’d be heading out for his morning poop and the process would start all over again.

This would never have been such an issue when I lived in a building.  We could come in through the mud room (aptly named, huh?) and with an endless supply of water and clean towels, I could stand him in a tub, or hose him off as needed. I could walk him to one of my standing utility sinks and run warm water over his paws until it ran clear and dry him off with one of 2 dozen clean towels. Not so in a van, where we both stood in the mud outside, trying to get the biggest clumps off before stepping inside. Limited water and space and fresh towels added to the difficulties.

I did what I could and then made Pad Thai for breakfast. I know that sounds crazy, but Pad Thai is easy and always feels like an exotic comfort food. I ate the Pad Thai and drank more coffee. The sun had come out by then and the mud outside my van looked like a beautiful chocolate-colored satin sheet. I walked to the space behind me where Cosmo likes to play ball, and it was a bit sandier. It was on higher ground.  I pulled my cacti plants and folding chair into the van and battened down everything inside and drove the 50 yards to the adjacent site. I maneuvered to the far edge of the dirt and parked so that my side doors opened onto grass.  I ate another half a bowl of Pad Thai and opened up all the doors. There were still some clouds, but the sun was out, and it was becoming hot and muggy again.  At least we weren’t ankle deep in mud.

The rain held off most of the day, but the clouds and breeze continued to be a welcome relief from the previous weeks of blazing heat. In our new spot, the sun helped dry the ground and Cosmo and I went out, into the grassy area a few times. I cleaned up the floor and swept the rugs as best I could.  They’ll need to go into the wash when I go into town.

Monday morning, I woke to a beautiful cool morning. The ground was mostly dry, and the air was fresh and clean.  After our morning coffee and snacks, I looked over and Cosmo was standing at the door with a tennis ball in his mouth.  Poor boy definitely had cabin fever, so I took him out and threw the ball as far as I could (into the grassy area) a dozen times until he seemed to have had enough and took his ball back into the van.  Most of our neighbors had left. They often do on Sunday and nearly always do on a Sunday when rain is in the forecast.  It was kind of nice to be so alone again, out in the middle of the forest. After breakfast, the sun was still shining (though the forecast was for heavy rain in the afternoon) so we took a walk while we could.  The normally bad roads were much worse due to heavy rigs driving on them when they were muddy.

It was clear I needed to make a decision:  I could get out of this section of forest if I left before the rain started. If I decided to stay, I would be stuck for sure, until a day or two after the rain stopped.  Or, if people and big rigs came in while it was still raining/muddy, the roads could get worse and getting out could become even more difficult.  Not knowing where else to go I decided to stay. Worst case scenario was that I would have to stay longer than I wanted, drink black coffee when my half and half ran out and live on brown rice and canned beans for a couple of days.  I decided to live life on the edge, and I stayed.

The next few days were so different than my life had been all summer.  Afternoon thunderstorms provided cloud cover and wind and cooled things off. The rain was heavy, but usually only for a minute or two, then stopped. I was parked far away from the road, and nearly every other camper had left on Sunday morning.  Cosmo and I had the whole forest to ourselves.  Every morning when we got out of bed, Cosmo grabbed a tennis ball and stood by the door with his best “sad puppy” look.  I laughed.  We went out and since mornings were almost always sunny and dry, we played ball for a little while. I felt that was the least I could do for him since I knew that by afternoon, we’d be locked inside out of the rain. I have gone many days without human interaction, but it is rare that I cannot even see another human for days on end. The past few days were spent in complete isolation, with nobody coming or going into the muddy campsites.  I spent some time plotting my course to Utah to meet up with Kent and Felix. It was too early to leave, but I found a couple places that I’d like to stay along the way.  I decided to wait it out until the weekend, and then start my trek north. (Mind you, “trek” in this case means about 3 hours.  Since I drive so little, anything over an hour’s drive qualifies as a major expedition.)

This was primarily a week of YouTube videos and listening to podcasts.  As much as I like the isolation and having the forest to myself, I do start to feel quite unproductive after a few days of doing absolutely nothing. Over the past couple years, many of you have suggested I put these e-mails into book form.  I actually thought I might do that ever since I went to Machu Picchu.  I decided this week that it would be a good project to start. I’m not sure where this will go, but if nothing else, I’ll have gathered all my Sunday morning e-mails to be saved in once spot and in chronological order.  It is a bigger project than I had anticipated, but I’m making great progress.

I’m still playing with nighttime photography and trying to capture the Milky Way even though the moon is just past full.  I think the trick is going to be to get a shot when the moon is just rising and in a phase bright enough to illuminate the foreground slightly, but not enough to obliterate the night sky.  I’ve made it a project to try to take a couple shots at night before bed if there isn’t cloud cover.

Lessons From The Road: I felt unproductive a lot of this week.  At first, I was telling people I talked to by phone or text or e-mail that I was bored. I wasn’t. I was just feeling guilty for not getting anything accomplished.  My normal routine of one day going to get fresh water and a few days later maybe driving into town for groceries was stymied by the muddy roads.  So I mostly watched YouTube and played ball with Cosmo and when it wasn’t raining, we went for a walk through the forest.  I’m retired. That should be enough, right?  Yet somehow I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being very lazy and unproductive.  Starting to organize these Sunday morning e-mails and seeing if there is a travelogue in there somewhere ate up a few hours every afternoon. Taking night shots of the sky also felt like I was accomplishing something. I’m still sorting out in my head if I really need to accomplish anything other than just being, and if so, how much?

Cosmo turned 6 last month. He is indeed growing into quite a different dog. We’ve always had this sort of psychic connection; He looks at me a certain way and I know what he wants.  But lately, he is developing unique communication skills.  Standing at the door with a tennis ball in his mouth when he gets bored is a pretty unmistakable request. He also will stand at his bowl after a long walk or an exhausting game of fetch, and make noises indicating he wants more food. And he’s become much more of a frequent snuggler. He’s always liked to cuddle, but I think because we are so isolated and have only each other for company (except for an occasional bovine visitor), he often comes and lays across my lap, closes his eyes and moves his face toward mine so I can kiss it.  He’s become quite a character. Like father, like son.

I met a photographer in Two Guns a couple months back. He asked to take a picture of me and Cosmo. He sent it to me this week.

I think it is a nice portrait (in spite of my belly).