My boyfriend, Jed, is pretty incredible. I still can’t figure out what the hell he sees in me, but I’m glad he sees it. He is a full-on mountain-man/nature-dude/urban-farmer/backpacker/hunter/camper/all-around-badass. Plus, he’s really hot.
I intended to put Jed’s picture here, so you could see how hot he is, but he’s also very private and somewhat bashful and won’t let me post his picture. He said I could post a picture of his dog, Tanner. I explained to him that I would have to write a paragraph explaining why there was a picture of his dog in a post that is not about his dog, and this is that paragraph.
My theory about nature and camping has always been that I love and respect nature, but I don’t want to wallow in it. Moreover, our early ancestors worked very hard to become agrarian and live in houses, and I have always strongly believed it is an insult to their efforts to go out to some remote place and voluntarily live in a small, flimsy, fabric structure.
But, Jed loves small flimsy fabric structures, and lighting fires with a toothpick and a stick of gum, and being on the look-out for bears. And I love him. So, I guess I better figure out how to love wallowing in nature, too.
My last (and, frankly, only) previous camping experience was close to 20 years ago in Yosemite with my ex-husband, who at the time was my fiancée. Andrew is also a big-time nature guy, but he tends to be somewhat impulsive and distracted, and even though he successfully hiked 200 miles along the John Muir trail the year before, he failed to pack enough food for the entire trip, and spent the last leg of it eating boiled onions and peanut butter for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. As a result, I didn’t feel completely comfortable with his ability to be aware of his surroundings enough to know whether or not I had been carried away by something with large teeth and larger claws while he was off gathering fire wood.
Jed is extremely conscientious, smart, kind, playful, and occasionally grumpy. He is also emotionally stable. I would even venture to say he is emotionally balanced. Like a normal person. And I still like him, which is really quite surprising, given my questionable dating and marriage history. I guess stability and boring don’t go hand-in-hand after all.
Jed took me camping a couple of weeks ago. It was a milestone in our relationship. I think he was testing me to see how well I coped with dirt and minimal luxuries. He forgets that I am a mom, so dirt and grossness are run of the mill for me, and I am broke, so my life is relatively luxury-less compared to most college-educated American women.
He didn’t say it, but I’m pretty sure that had I whined and complained and generally behaved like a prima-donna, he would have broken up with me on the way home. Luckily for both of us, I am neither whiney and complainey, nor am I a prima-donna.
Though, I do like to look cute. Even in the woods. Even if it’s just him and me. Especially if it’s just him and me. I would hate for him to gaze at me across the camp fire and be grateful that at least I have a good personality. I want him to gaze at me as the embers of our camp fire illuminate my face with soft, glowing, golden light, and think about how smart, witty, adventurous and fun I am, and how incredibly hot my ass looks in my hiking pants.
As soon as we arrived home, but after showering off the, probably not quite, but certainly felt like, inch-thick crusty shell of dirt the texture of hot-chocolate drink mix that coated my entire body – even the unexposed parts, that dirt gets EVERYWHERE!- I immediately performed a Google search for cute, cool, functional, comfortable, and well-reviewed camping/hiking/backpacking gear for chicks. I found nothing worth bookmarking. And, for sure, nothing worth buying.
Some may think it’s vain, but just because I’m covered in dirt doesn’t mean I want to look like shit. This doesn’t make me a prima-donna. It makes me a woman who is not afraid to admit that, while of course, looks are not everything, we are a visual species and looks still matter. Not in an over-the-top, bring-the-blow-drier-camping, must-check-my-face-every-2-minutes, Tammy-Faye Baker kind of way. In more of a being-easy-on-the-eyes-even-when-I-haven’t-done-my-eyes-is-not-a-crime kind of way.
This blog is about looking. It’s about learning to look Mother Nature in the eye without looking like I was raised by wolves.
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The City-Girl Guide to Nature 