My Cozy Orange Tent

My cozy orange tent

Half-dome 4, sleeps 4. 

Says the label on my cozy orange tent. 

We have slept 4, 3, 2, and 1 comfortably in the nylon dome.

But, 4 is the coziest number.

Snuggled up to my family,

Three boys with spikes shooting out of their head,

The exact same smooth texture, next to my head full of tangled, knotted twists.

How do we all get along? It is mysterious considering the contradiction of our hair geometry. 

But I think the answer is in our cozy orange tent.

It is a snap to put together! I adore the elastic rope inside the shiny orange metallic poles.

They whomp together when they find their opposite ends. 

3-poles connect into two triangles with a linear connection.

Simple and sturdy frame, mirrors the Ponderosa, Sugar pine and Lodgepole trunks stretching upward to form trade routes for a network of scampering chipmunks and squirrels going unnoticed above our heads. 

There are convenient, netted pockets to stash our glasses and headlamps, in the ceiling just an arm’s reach from our heads. As I unroll the folded dome, shreds of bark sprinkle out, vaporizing aromas from our past outdoors adventures. Zippers have seen better years, I treat them with care and the respect they deserve for keeping us safe from mosquitos for a decade or two. 

Synthetic fibers woven together from carboxylic acid and amine form the walls that collect drops of dew I feel against my head each morning. It’s fun to test the waters out by scratching the tent walls with my finger, and notice how much water vapor from our breath turned into liquid droplets overnight. Condensation sticks nicely to the nylon walls and resists falling on my head - just one more engineering genius about my cozy orange tent. 

Sideways rain darts have pelleted the outer walls to no avail, leaving me and my pimple-faced companions safe from frigid moisture one night on a spur of the moment thunderstorm in Tahoe National Forest.

I love waking up on my Thermarest mat to hear a bloated, bulging river snake down from Kennedy Meadows, a driveway’s distance from my head.  Inside my turquoise sleeping bag purchased 26 years ago, tiny down feathers seeping from the seams.

I love to perch you, cozy orange tent, on a rocky cliff - a lone backpackers campsite overlooking an alpine lake stretching a mile outward to granite bowled walls. 

I love to find a soft patch of ground, needles left by a furry Sugarpine or a brittly Ponderosa that skillfully block the light out for me to be able to sleep in until 8:30 or 9. Not a trivial achievement!

Even in a world-wide pandemic, I can be safe from a crazy mutating virus in my backyard, on a gravel driveway, inside my orange cozy tent. When the parks and cafes closed up, there was Finny and I sitting on makeshift camp chairs in an orange expanded living room, reading stories out loud to each other, trying to ignore the potsmoke sifting in from the parking lot on the other side of our backyard fence. 

Better than a cabin in Mammoth or Tahoe - you can smell the treebark burning and listen to the Jays, Towhees and Tanagers - long whistle, then two short. Which bird is that anyway? Whichever, I adore you for greeting me each time I wander into the Sierras. Don’t forget the deep throttles of the sage grouse, barely audible to my aging ears. I adore you too, and that I can detect your presence by the thin walls of my cozy orange tent.

In a cabin, it’s hard not to stare at your cell phone because it beeps at you every five seconds. 

In my cozy orange tent, the cell phone stays asleep in my tent’s ceiling pocket. 

It feels so good to take off my boots, sit on my mat, dust off my blistered feet, and spread out my toes so they can catch the air. It’s hard to do this anywhere else, and be OK with all the dirt falling on the floor, but my orange cozy tent!