Gone Glamping

We left the urban hustle behind on one fine Friday and drove across state lines into farm country. Our dog’s ears were flapping in the breeze as he sat in my lap. An old black and tan Dachshund named Darwin, and Seth and I, his parents, took to the open road for our annual vacation.

Our small family drove north through the wheat and corn, watching the sheep pass by. The hills beyond were flat and rolled into mountains covered in pine trees. A carriage pulled up next to our window, and the driver peered in. Four children, sporting bowl cuts and all clad in overalls, commandeered it. The child driving whipped the workhorse, and they pulled ahead of us, cutting us off.

“Weird little brats,” Seth cursed under his breath.

“They’re Amish,” I uttered, lacking interest. The blur of mountain flowers growing on the side of the road distracted Darwin and me. You could almost grab a fistful. My arm was in an imaginary stream in the wind.

“The highway was twenty minutes ago. Are we almost there?” I was getting cramped.

“Adam…” Seth was losing his patience. I felt bewildered, so I consulted the directions. The paper map I printed crinkled and flapped in the warm breeze as I tried to read it. My mohawk was messy from the open window. Even though it was showing some grey, it was still a source of pride for me when I told people I cut it myself.

Seth’s my partner. A cute Jewish guy with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. He drove with intent—always keeping it at ten and two. Weariness settled upon us, clear in his furrowed brow.

“That pile of rocks on the left?” He pulled up to the driveway that went straight into the dense woods.

“Yep, that’s the marker,” I confirmed, shifting Darwin uncomfortably in my lap.

Our Mini Cooper crunched down the gravel road, crushing thistles and weeds. Groaning, the car moved beneath the cover of the trees, branches dragging across the closed sunroof. Deer watched us from the open meadow.

We pulled up to the log marking where to park and gladly turned the car off. Ah—our home away from home for the next two days. Seth started unpacking as I climbed out with Darwin and let him sniff the rocks and gravel. After a much-needed bathroom break, a handy wagon sitting on a path glowed in the sunlight through the trees. The sign on the trail said, “Welcome!” We were off to start our glamping adventure.

Our small group of three meandered down the winding, mulched path, brushing sticks and hanging twigs out of our way. Seth pulled the heavy wagon of luggage, and I carried the old man. Leaves hit Darwin’s face as he looked into the forest. I held him out and let him smell the honeysuckle and clover. He gingerly sniffed until he sneezed.

“Hey, you two,” Seth stepped through the bushes and disappeared. I bent the branches that were blocking the path, and there it was. Sticks cracked as I crossed the threshold. We found the oasis.

“Wow! I can’t believe this is all ours.” I said. We entered the clearing; the sun was overhead. It was sweltering, but we didn’t care—we were in camping heaven.

The hosts tied the tent’s canvas flaps, and they left the entrance open to nature. We pulled up the screen door zipper, then stepped in. After too much fishing or hiking, the room sat prepared for our first nap. A just-made bed with white and red pillows. A stylish but unnecessary yellow chunky-knit blanket covered the freshly tucked-in sheets and bedspread. Two side tables, each holding a lamp shaped like a bass jumping out of water. In the corner was a chair and a much-needed industrial fan.

They even provided showers and an outhouse. “Oh, how the other half live,” we joked.

A bouquet in a vase was complete with a welcome card expressing gratitude for our visit and stating everything was ours to explore. We placed luggage upon the bed, prepared coffee within the kettle, and departed down the nearest grassy path.

“Watch out for that beehive in the distance,” Seth warned, already donning a walking stick. The trail ended at a pond so we did a loop around it, scaring a family of turtles. The babies hurried after the parents into the murky water. Before we knew it, we were back at camp.

“That was neat,” we concurred, itching to uncover more.

“See that? Something’s back there, beyond the tent.” Seth pointed out. A hidden path lay behind the canvas pop-up wall. Fueled by coffee and a sense of mischief, we set off down the inviting bonus trail. Darwin waddled and smelled the red mushrooms before being snatched up, almost making one a snack. We crossed a wooden bridge that went over flowing water. They constructed it solidly, even though it lacked railings. Trekking along the beaten path, we emerged at an isolated creek. The only exception was a great blue heron hunting a rainbow trout in the babbling water. We felt like intruders when he squawked and flew off. The bird didn’t look back. We laid towels down by the creek, just off the sand, in the grass. Seth plopped a pop-up chair right in the stream and sat with the dog in his lap. He was one with the earth.

“Take my picture,” he said, making a peace sign.

Dinner was splendid—we had hotdogs and burgers prepared by a roaring fire. Seth threw another log on the tame coals, and it erupted in dancing embers. I pulled my stick out of the flames and blew on it. I apologized to the wiener dog before taking a huge charred bite. A lightning bug landed on my arm, and I gently blew it off.

“Sorry, Darwin. Don’t look.” I said as I ate the frankfurter. For dessert we had the classic—completely burned marshmallows. Seth and Darwin couldn’t have been happier campers. I saw it on their faces. They had big smiles, along with goopy marshmallow all over their mouths.

Crickets chirped and frogs made groaning noises in the nearby pond as the night carried on. The flames from the fire were high and warm. With the sky clear, stars became visible. We eventually dozed off on the stiff bed, and a small spider slowly crawled along the ceiling to greet us during the night. I awoke to smoke from the fire pit, so I got up quietly and relit the coals, cooking steak and eggs for everyone. Today felt different as I fixed breakfast. The heat had intensified, and the air felt damp and clung to my skin. Static filled the air, and Darwin could hear the nearby farm animals. Chicken clucks sounded like a frantic warning.

As the sun set on the second night, we started collecting twigs and sticks for the fire. We ran out of newspapers for kindling. My phone rang—the host warned us about storms coming our way, but he invited us to come to his farmhouse if we felt frightened. But we were feeling braver than usual, so we stayed. I thanked him for being generous and hung up.

“How about we stay up late and watch the rain?” I proposed. We sat on the bed’s edge, its flaps open toward the wilderness. The fire pit sizzled in front of us. Birds were chattering and nesting, and getting ready for bedtime. It was almost dark when the sky lit up from the first bolt. The black and grey clouds rolled in from the distance, bringing more electricity with them. Zaps of lightning jumped between the clouds as if they were sending messages to each other.

“This is exhilarating,” Seth said. He jumped when a crackle erupted in a neighboring meadow. A family of raccoons appeared from the brush, kits in tow, seeking shelter from the impending storm. Exchanging chirps, they left without a backward glance. Then the rain came. It was immediate sheets of water with no sign of a drizzle. Both of us pulled our feet onto the bed, shielding ourselves from the splashing water outside. Seth jumped up and zipped the screen flap closed. The old dog whined and jostled, so I hugged him in my lap.

Crack, bang, boom.

A nearby tree suffered a fiery lightning strike. The bark burned and sizzled. Despite the rain, a sharp odor of wood permeated the air. The strikes doubled, then multiplied and came closer with each bang. We consoled Darwin, but were secretly consoling each other.

“It’s fine, it’s been an hour, we’ve made it this far—” I reasoned after we huddled in the tent, trying to think of what to do next. It was too late to flee; the rain became deadly and took over the campsite.

Lightning illuminated the canvas wall. A tree creaked, and a deafening crash caused the corner of the tent to collapse. We all hit the floor and crawled to the front, taking shelter near the entrance at the foot of the bed. We had front-row seats to nature’s wild ride. My heart was pounding; I blacked out for a split-second. Trees strained, then crashed all around us. A metal chair floated by and disappeared into the woods. I was terrified and prepared for the worst possible thing to happen. Seth watched the events like a concert, but his voice betrayed his fear, which matched mine.

The show reached a deadly climax, but Darwin had seen enough. He threw his head back, his floppy ears bouncing, as he barked ferociously at the tempest. The storm’s power was undeniable, yet in that instant, a profound sense of confidence washed over us—we would pull through.

“Thank you, Darwin!” Seth’s cry was grateful and full of pride. “You’re the Thunder Barker,” he dubbed the old man as the weather showed signs of letting up.

A distant headlamp pierced through the trees, illuminating the path to the camp. A slicker-clad individual carried a flashlight and a medical kit. An immediate wave of relief washed over me as I knew we would make it.

“I just wanted to make sure you were all right.” The farmer said. The rain lessened from a downpour to a light shower as he told us his barn and one of his cars were completely gone. We grabbed what wasn't soaked or destroyed and scooped up the dog. Climbing over toppled trees and wading through newfound ponds of water, we shared the hope that our car would still be there. We left the once serene sanctuary and hustled down the disheveled trail.

There it was—our way home. Sitting there and waiting to chariot us to safety. We hopped in the car, and the dog moaned at the window. Deer appeared in the nearby meadow and were fine but shaken by the storm. We witnessed the full extent of the carnage while passing through the rolling farmlands. Power lines had trees tangled in them. We pulled onto the main road, both our eyes wide. A horse ran down the street in the rearview mirror. Our hands remained clasped during our return home.

“That was something else,” Seth said. “What an experience,” he added. I clutched Darwin, recounting our harrowing weekend. The open highway welcomed us back, and we were relieved to be en route home to our bustling city.