Sunday Scribbling - Bed

Camping. Not one of my favorite pastimes. I didn’t grow up camping, it’s more something I inherited through marriage, like an in-law that you have nothing in common with but you smile and make polite conversation with. Brad - he practically grew up in a tent, spending summer after summer in the state parks. So when we got married, I gave it the old college try. We bought our first tent, a little three-person blue dome tent from REI and christened it “Love Shack II”.

One of our first after-marriage, before-kids, camping trips was in the Columbia River George. It was a small campsite, near the river and within a 20 minute driving distance to the quaint town of Hood River. It was a bargaining chip. I’ll camp as long as I can window shop for a few hours on one of the days. It was a smaller campsite and not terribly busy that late spring weekend. One reason might have been the proximity to the railroad. A few hours after turning in for the night, I was wakened by the sound of a train. One that sounded like it would cut a path right through the front door of the tent. The noise woke me right up and I sat up with a start. Brad slept soundly through the commotion and barely stirred.

I laid there trying to get my heart rhythm back to normal and trying to get that drowsy, sleeping in the fresh air feeling back that would put me back to sleep. Still getting used to “sharing” a bed, I shifted a couple of times on the queen sized air mattress, trying to find a good spot. Finally, I had found the sweet spot with just enough air and just enough cushion and I felt myself drifting off to visions of five-star hotel rooms with thermostats, crisp white sheets and bathrooms just a few steps away.

In the stillness, I felt the mattress shift. I looked over at my sleeping husband. He was out like a rock. He hadn’t moved. Hmmm. Laying still, I felt my body getting heavier, the sleep invading my body from my toes to my head – WAIT, there it was AGAIN. I didn’t imagine that. The mattress was MOVING even though Brad and I were perfectly still.

My first thought, earthquake. My second, volcano. We live in one of the areas of the world where seismic activity is not unheard of. With a dad who’s a geologist, I knew all the possibilities. Now I was wide awake, searching the memory archives for what you do in case of an earthquake if there are no door frames or desks to hide under. Seriously – what do you do in case of an earthquake when you’re out in the MIDDLE OF NOWHERE?

I laid there with pounding heart – again. Trying not to over react, I did end up waking Brad and asking him if he had felt the movement. With a sleepy, newlywed grin he said no, but offered to make the mattress move again if I wanted. Not funny, I said – exhausted and overwhelmed by adrenaline for the second time in one night.

Finally, sometime around daybreak I must have slept for a bit. Groggy-eyed and grumpy the next day, I helped break camp. Underneath our tent we were amazed to find 3 fresh mounds of dirt. Mr. Gopher had been the one making the earth shake under my mattress.

As a girl that really does NOT appreciate the fuzzy and cute factor of ANY rodent, I think I would have preferred the earthquake. The story doesn’t end there. Over the years, my nighttime campsite visitors have included a raccoon, drunk neighbors and a black bear. Needless to say, camping is not one of my favorite activities. I’d much rather spend the day outside somewhere, have a campfire, and then go to sleep, IN MY OWN BED!

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