Our toilet overflowed. Heh. Guess we should have built it a structure. We've come to realize that modern man and primitive man are always at odds in our camp. Unless we're going to roam the forest living off of bark and squirrel, shitting and pissing where we like and sleeping in the crook of trees, we find ourselves in need of structures and clothes and such modern things. The second we build a "toilet" for the comfort of our butt (and modern notions of sanitation) it suddenly needs a roof so it doesn't flood in the rain and proper drainage and the like. The moment we decide to put a roof over our heads we have decided to defend it from nature (by keeping up on maintenance).

So today we put on some plastic bags and stomped around in the woods. The ground is springy and swollen and matted down with leaves - golden and ruddy red and pale pink. Every inch of bark is slick with rain and thirsty for it.

We walked to the big redwood on the property - the one with the saw still embedded in it. It's trunk felt like wet cardboard. The ground was littered with acorns and redwood needles. The clearing was a pale green and misty until you got up close and could see each individual leaf, vibrant and green, reaching out for a drink. It felt so good to be outside - in it. And equally good to return to the heat of the fire. We are grateful for this contrast and freedom of choice.

Place: Annapolis Tags: home, camping

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