Countdown to Camping
Anticipating a week in Acadia
Through the frame of my bedroom window, I’m watching raindrops fall, but I can barely hear them over the hum of the furnace. It’s a good day to be curled up under the weight of a warm blanket. This is a shift from the past three days, when summerlike temperatures and sunny skies coaxed pale-green leaves from the tree buds. I opened the windows for the first time since last fall, peeling rope caulk from the gaps between the old wooden frames and wiping ladybug carcasses from the sills. Wind rushed in, and my house took a deep breath for the first time in six months.
So did I.
Inspired by the warm air, I dug my halter-top-and-flowery-skirt bathing suit out of a drawer, pulled it over my pale body, and planted myself in my favorite chair on the deck. I calculated that the sun was as intense on a late-April afternoon as it would be in August, but I couldn’t bear to block those precious UV rays with sticky sunscreen, so I sat and burned the tops of my arms and legs and chest for four hours until the clouds rolled in.
I keep hearing people say that it was a long winter, and I suppose that’s true. My last cross-country ski was on March 24th (though some years, I recall skiing into April). I was one of the few who benefitted from the steady stream of snow in northern New Hampshire, setting forth on any day the temperature topped ten degrees to glide through the woods with my dogs. Skiing kept me sane during the long months that my camper van sat frozen under a pile of snow and ice. In some ways, the in-between season has been harder for me, when the skiing is done but it’s too cold and rainy to ride my bike; when the trails are too muddy and icy to hike; when I’m stuck jogging the same loop around town, watching the dirty snow banks melt imperceptibly day after day, and waiting for a purple crocus to break through the soil, promising spring.
I’ve been tracking the signs of the season for the past few weeks, from the first crocus on April 9th, to the demise of the last pile of yard-snow on April 12th, to the trill of spring peepers on April 16th. I observed the spotted leaves of the trout lily in the woods on April 22nd, and found my first ant crawling on the bathroom wall on April 27th. Then yesterday, April 29th, came the long-anticipated bud burst of the maple tree in front of my house.
Even more anticipated yesterday was the glorious return to my camper van, The Dream Catcher, as I opened her windows for the first time this year, hauled boxes of supplies up from my basement to tuck into her shelves and cabinets, and dewinterized and sanitized her plumbing in preparation for camping season. I carefully folded ten days’ worth of clothes and stuffed them into the closet like a Tetris puzzle. I flicked on the gas switch and dutifully tested her propane stove and fridge (both worked!). I plugged her into shore power and turned on the air conditioning, blowing a puff of dust in my face. I tested the generator and turned on the microwave. When the fridge cooled, I switched it over to electric power and filled it with fresh broccoli and cauliflower, hummus and almond milk, baby carrots and frozen berries. I finally slammed the van door shut sometime after 11pm, satisfied that I’d moved everything in before the rain arrived.
Today I sit at home under my blanket in quiet anticipation. Tomorrow, May 1st, is the official start of the camping season in Acadia National Park, the only national park within a day’s drive of my house. For the past four years (except last year, when I was out west), I’ve made an annual pilgrimage to Blackwoods Campground the week that it opens, first in the ten-by-ten tent Seth gave me for my birthday, then in my Honda Element camper, then graduating to the RV loop in my 1999 Roadtrek camper van. The dogs and I enjoy a week of sitting bundled up on Sand Beach (the temperature typically hovers in the mid-50s on a good day), hiking granite hills overlooking the ocean, and jogging old carriage roads through mossy woods. We spend quiet days at the campground listening to distant bell of a buoy bobbing on the ocean, walking the path to the craggy coast to watch waves crash over jagged rocks, and lounging by a warm campfire as the night air cools into the 40s. It is the very literal breath of fresh air I need at the end of a long winter cooped up indoors; a pilgrimage to commune with nature at the earliest possible moment that the plumbing in my van and in the campground spigots won’t freeze.
Thinking of this moment is what’s gotten me through the past four-and-a-half months since I abandoned my winter road trip and found myself unexpectedly slogging through a New Hampshire winter. Today is like Christmas Eve, and tomorrow I will unwrap my long-awaited present, gifting myself solitude and wood smoke and salty air.
The trip holds added significance this year because it will be the first time my dog Baxter will get to snuggle in bed and hike with me since she had knee surgery twelve weeks ago. She’s still on light-duty, but her bone has finally healed enough to be able to jump onto the low bed in the van and explore a few miles of easy trails. I can’t wait to wake up with her nose in my face again, and to watch her trot along the gravel paths instead of slow-walking the endless concrete loops we’ve circled during her recovery. Keeping her confined to the downstairs of my house for so long has left us both a little depressed, so I look forward to a happy week of puppa snuggles (with Laney, too, of course!).
Much has happened in the months since I last wrote, as my life nearly forked in three very different directions, none of which would have been conducive to spending ten days in Acadia. I’m still grieving each of those roads not taken—some by choice, and some by chance. I hope I’ll have a quiet day in camp to reflect and put words to those missed opportunities… they are tender stories and will be posted for members of my Inner Circle (click here to join for just $5 a month or $36 a year and support my writing).
Much is also uncertain about the months ahead, as I wait to schedule surgery on both elbows and hopefully find relief from the pain that’s limited my activities for the past two years. A summer with my arms in slings is not what I had in mind, especially after months of anticipating big adventures. But the cortisone shots I got last fall wore off, and now I can’t lift a glass of water without wincing. I’m hoping that if I sacrifice a season to my recovery, I’ll be back to normal by fall. Whether I end up driving my van back to Baja, or pursuing parenthood, or skiing my way through another winter at home with Seth, I will need my arms.
At least my legs still work, and Baxter’s are getting stronger, and Laney (who just turned 13!) can cover a few miles even though her hind end is getting shaky. So we will spend our week in Acadia exploring where our legs can carry us, with plenty of lounging in between. We will watch the froth swirl as waves push water between rocks; we will smell the brine of low tide; we will fall asleep to the whisper of spruce boughs and the distant clang of the buoy-bell.
By the time we get home, spring will have sprung, and summer will be on its way. Seth and I will visit his parents’ lakefront cottage to prepare for their arrival, dusting the pollen off the porch and vacuuming the mouse poops off the countertops of our 1991 Winnebago that is parked in their driveway. The rhododendrons will bloom and the birds will nest in the hemlock branches. We’ll open the camper windows to the nighttime serenade of crickets and loon calls. I’ll sit in the sun again (with sunscreen!) and watch the eagle and osprey land in the tall pines.
It’s been a long wait, and a long winter, but I’ll finally get back to the places that make me feel most like myself. Spending time by the ocean, in the woods, at the lake, and in my two campers, I hope I’ll find peace and clarity about what comes next.
I’d love to hear, what are you most looking forward to with the change of seasons? Please share in the comments!