As far as my imagination was concerned, I strolled straight into another horror film just as the sun was setting.
Mom, I swear I booked a legitimate campsite. I promise it had good reviews. Hipcamp boasted a “Working organic farm with sulfur springs.” I imagined I’d wake up and take pictures of the property, make a beautiful meal, pick up some fresh produce. And well all of that kind of happened.
I realized at precisely dusk what they were referring to when they mentioned that if I was afraid of a little junk in the yard to forgo the stay. In my mind, decorated with eerie shadows, it was full on junkyard, haunted farm with one hoop house and a billion rusted out tractors. To compete the wild imaginings in my mind, after many minutes of following tiny arrows down rutted out farm paths, one two story dilapidated barn full of tools and spare parts loomed in front of me. Holy shit I was in for a ride.
A quick rerouting to the designated camping area, I met the farmer himself. A wrinkled old man with simple eyes and very few words. He was really soft and mild about it all. The directions were clear: Noise canons would go off if deer or other wild beasts set foot in his farm perimeter. Take some fruit from the tree if I pleased. Pick whichever camp spot I liked.
A sunken river bottom to the left, a tent camper just out of view, two hot tubs with rusted out casings and goopy sulfurous drippings. Just behind, a cabin, vacated and littered with haphazard appliances and beat up furniture on the porch. Finally a lone persimmon tree, glowing orange and full of fruit with the last of the days light fading fast in the canyon.
I settled on a spot further up the canyon and beyond the vacant cabin. I parked myself behind a gate (for mental safety I presume), under an acorn tree. My campsite had these little oddities, hand build tables, bizarre charm, and one perfectly fashioned out house. Running around distracting my thoughts I busied myself to throw together a sublime dinner. Smashed potatoes, greens, and a mushroom grain salad. I even rigged this cool lighting scenario with a flash light and a water jug that I was pleasantly surprised with.
After a quick clean up, I locked myself in and set myself off to dreamland. Acorns rained down all night long pelting the van. The wind howled furiously through the canyon and you better believe the noise cannons sang their triumphant song.
Thrilled when the morning came with all her daylight and perceived security, I set out to capture the whole mess of the place. Hope you enjoy.
Beyond my hallowed campsite, I set off toward San Louis Obispo for some well earned civilization and fancy coffees.
It was Thanksgiving, so I face-timed home to my sister Jill and spent a few hours catching up with crew. I was outside in my van, in a parking lot sipping on very sexy coffee very alone. There I was in the middle of the vastness of it all ‘living” and simultaneously plugged in to another world 2000 miles away talking about a Thanksgiving feast, nieces and nephews, church, and the weather. Sometimes I wonder what they all make of me traveling out here, wind in my face, alone and free. In many ways it’s really not so different. Swap out a few comforts and add in a few survival skills maybe. I’m just as concerned about food, and the weather, what God means to me, and if I’m gonna have a family someday.
I spent the rest of the day exploring little worn out towns, stopping as usual for all the distracting details that make me smile. I made it to Santa Barbara as the night came to a close where I happily forked over a few hundred dollars to charge my laptop and dive into a sea of fluffy covers.
