toast

On Sunday I took a peek at my schedule for the week: another 3-day work week. While my finances would look a little brighter if I was getting more hours, I decided that the grass should be green on my side of the fence. 3 days off! I took a road trip.

I hastily planned an adventure to Big Sur to go camping, then jumped in my car with my tent and sleeping bag. I headed south on highway One, past dunes and mountains and meadows, sea crags and fields of artichokes. I chose my camping spot based on the fact that you had to hike in. Then I loaded up on supplies at the tiny roadside grocery: bread, peanut butter, jelly, water, a lighter, free local newspapers, firewood, and some pistachios.

I had to make two trips to carry in the water and wood and other camping supplies. While setting up my tent, I watched a group of 3 guys hike in with everything but the kitchen sink. Really. They had a cot and a backyard grill with one wheel missing, a giant cooler, a couple of giant storage bins, a tent, some chairs. I giggled to myself and wondered how long they were planning on staying. Then I went for a hike to the ocean.

I ran into them on my way back from the hike and they invited me over for beer and burgers. My own fire was in order, as I had already drug in a pile of wood. I also wanted to dry out my pants. They were soaked through from an adventure trying to cross the river's mouth. It was deeper than it looked.

The usual dusk melancholy set in. I feel strange and a bit lonely in the solitude of the evening when I realize the sun is ducking away, and I am alone. It seems to be how I'm wired. I like to think that it is a self-preservation instinct. Get back to the clan, night is setting in. Then the blackness nestles in around me and I feel fine again. I don't reach for my lamp or stick close to the fire. In fact, I feel stealthy and confident in the inky black of night. I wander about, looking up at the stars, admiring the silhouettes of the trees and the horizon.

To pass the post-sunset, pre-night awkwardness, I kept myself busy. I built my fire, stirred and poked and added twigs and newspaper. I was determined that my fire would be just as good, if not better than my neighbors'. Then I set my pants up to toast in the flames and headed over to their camp.

The sun had gone and the stars were on their way. Venus was the first to cut through the light of the sunset. The entire galaxy followed. It was a welcome sight. We pointed in the general direction of the big dipper, orion, the north star. Then we looked up the location of mars and saturn and debated about which shiny specs they were. The conversation floated through constellations and talk of our backgrounds and foregrounds. Then the conversation turned to politics. Universal health care, Hillary and Barack.

I didn't think it likely that I would have spent the evening with strangers; even less likely that I would spend the evening with a group of graduate law students from San Francisco. It was an amazing discussion that lasted the rest of the night. We debated about how our own backgrounds bias our views, we all came from poor families (at least as children), from rural and urban areas. A. was from Mexico, I. was from New York, E. from Texas, R. from the bay area. Single mothers, first generation immigrants, minorities, and plain ol' white girl from Oregon: all of us still privileged enough to go to grad school. We talked about rights and the constitution and current policy. We talked about age and relationship status. We talked about the US and Mexico and Canada and Europe.

Every now and then I would leave and check on my pants, mostly to make sure they hadn't caught fire. But they were drying nicely and I had high hopes of wearing something other than my pajamas the next day.

After hours and a few beers I snuck off to my tent and curled up, completely content, in my big orange caterpillar sleeping bag.

There is no other feeling like waking up to the sun and the birds. No feeling like breathing in fresh air, the smell of grass and flowers and the ocean as the sun heats that little spot of the earth. I packed up everything in my tent without leaving my caterpillar. Then I slid on my pants, toasted to a light golden brown. I smiled to myself, and packed up camp entirely to set out for a day of purple sand and caves and seashells.