Tent City

It’s my room!

It’s my island for a night!

So I live in a tent, but I should elaborate.  It consists of a plywood floor and roof, 2x4 framing, and waterproof canvas walls.  Previous residents built a few basic shelves and bedside table.  There’s even a rack and hangers for clothes.  My bed is a giant piece of foam on a raised wooden frame, with plenty of space underneath for camping gear and extra boots and a case of beer.  I brought with me an actual Turkish rug I got in Turkey, and a few other decorative touches.  My roommate is great, friendly and tidy.  I love the wind rustling the leaves and the play of their shadows on the canvas in the afternoon.  The only downside to my tent is that at any time there are upwards of thirty other people nearby, walking, talking, picking banjo, snoring—really just existing.  Any and  all sounds are perfectly audible.  

My tent affords just about the only solitude short of hiking up a less-popular mountain (which is a dicey prospect, what with bears and increasingly ravenous insects).  So I try to soak it in when I find the lounge momentarily unoccupied, and my tent in the mid-afternoon when my roomie is still at work.

Last night it was a treat to sleep in a tent-tent, the usual kind, my own little pod of nylon, out on Porcupine Island in Kenai Lake.  Four of us that share weekends motored a raft out across the tears-of-joy-beautiful aquamarine water to a pine-covered chunk of rock surrounded by steep mountains.  We made a driftwood fire, had cookies and beer, and watched as, instead of getting dark, the sky just grew misty and pink.  I know I slept well because I drooled a lot.

Our return this morning included the opportunity to row the raft (the lake narrows down to the river we live next to, which is “drift” only).  My stint at the helm took us over some minor rapids, which was fun, and illuminating to realize the raft will handle almost anything, with or without much steering.  It’s tempting to become a raft guide, but for now I’m satisfied fussing with bread dough and casting dubious glances at various sugary concoctions while whisking.