Camping

Lately it seems like every time I come back from camping, I'm exclaiming That was the Best Time EVER. It took me a while to get used to the other campers and to the site itself. This was not the lean camping of rock climbing expeditions and back country jaunts. This is camping on a private ranch with no busy-body park rangers in sight. This is camping with multiple costume changes per day, this is camping with reasons to stay up after the sun goes down, this is camping with gourmet food, and hot tubs, and frivolity taken to excess held as a core value.

This was the best trip EVER!

Even with multiple slowdowns, I managed to get out of town with my rider before the 3:00 traffic snarls. I had a brand new person to explore as we flew through the cities up into the fall covered hills of Northern California, we even managed to arrive before dark. Yay! Setting your tent up when you can still see is way better than setting your tent up when you can't. Best roadtrip moment: Rider Specifically requested the RUSH from my iPod. Hah to all youse haters.

Saturdays at the Hippy Farm are very exhausting. There is breakfast to be eaten, happily someone else cooked it up. There is delicious coffee to be drunk, again happily, someone else made it. There is lounging on the grass to be done, old friends to be greeted, new friends to be greeted. There are hot tubs to be lazed in. There is a wine tasting class held by the Sommelier just back from the Loire Valley to be attended. Don't forget to change your fabulous costume several times. Oh, you forgot to bring costumery? Well then. Best to stop by the three giant tables of Costume Exchange. Later there is dinner to be eaten. Dinner you may or may not have had a hand in preparing is ready. If your fingers still smell like garlic, you were probably partly responsible for the wonderful feast. After dinner the temperature drops, dramatically. Time for another costume change. The hottubs have been scrubbed and filled and reheated. The campfire blazes with a fresh load of logs. The first stars appear to be joined en masse when you weren't looking. Some people bring out games to play. I'm a big fan of Apples to Apples. Probably because I school the masses. I'm also a big fan of Baileys straight into the coffee mug. The DJ shifts change and the music is either rockin and danceable or not rockin' and spacey dreamey, background to your conversation.

If you're lucky, you'll stay up all night. You might notice the stars in their slow, circular whirl across the sky. Or you might not notice, because you were in the giant yellow dome watching some of your friends make out while others lazed on futons jabbering and smoking, while some choose just to be silent, staring at the propane fueled fire garden. Hopefully you sat in one of the giant kettle hottubs that are so reminiscent of Broomhilda cooking up Bugs Bunny on the stove. Hopefully you had great conversations while in there. Hopefully, no one was tripping balls and wouldn't shut up.

Eventually Dawn threatens her arrival by lightening the far edges of the sky. This is your clue to go to bed. Make sure you are warm. One last dip in the tubs might do it. Someone might be making tea in the kitchen. A warm camper sleeps well, at least for four or five hours before the sun heats up the tent like an easy bake oven for your brain. Then you should get up so you don't bake your brain. This is a good time to quaff one of those packets of emergen-C you brought. So like orange juice, yet not. Happily, Sundays at the Hippy Farm are not as taxing as Saturdays. Usually the breakfast fairies have been busy. Bacon, hashbrowns, eggs, pancakes, french toast... who knows what will be found on the breakfast buffet. Certainly there will be dark rich coffee. Or perhaps there will be hot water on the stove for your tea. Or perhaps a bunny will wander by, mimosa pitcher in hand ready to pour some into the thermal mug that has not left your hand.

Sunday morning is a good time to just BE. The backbrain chatter is usually silent. Now is a good time to sip and watch. Admire your friends as they promenade in your cast-off clothing. You know, like that sweet black tank top with fabulous in rhinestones spelled across the chest. Bitch! You're wearing my clothes! But it looks dead sexy on your friend, as it did on you, as it did on the friend you got it from, as it did on the friend she got it from. Sharing with your friends is good.
It will be hot soon, time for a dip in the giant pond. Or perhaps time to spread a blanket on the lawn underneath the maples. That's a nice shady spot with an excellent view. It's an equally good place to dip into that book you brought, you know the novel, the logic puzzles, or the non-fiction political commentary. Hours will pass and just about the time you're feeling peckish, someone will come by with a giant vat of Rotel dip and chips. Or perhaps breakfast wore off early, so you made a giant caprese salad with quartered cherry tomatoes, perlini mozzarella balls, romaine and a splash of oil and vinegar. That is, if you didn't get pulled into yet another game, or have to show up for your own DJ slot, or perhaps if you weren't catching up with someone who has been even more off the radar than you.

This was the fall trip. It's over. Now we wait 8 more months before we regain this tiny slice of paradise.