4AM Vigil

I am a lover of outdoor activities. My outdoor activities of late have been, gardening and stucco. In past years, we went camping spring break and always on Memorial weekend. This year, and probably last year, Memorial Day was stucco day. My husband built a deck and planted a tree.
Weekend camping is usually accomplished in campgrounds. We haul in a trailer or Suburban full of stuff and set up a large community for two people. Sometimes we go in groups. I've not been camping since last October - we missed Hell week in Kansas last January, but that's a whole different post. I ran across this piece of nonsense while looking for another file and decided to post it.
The hardest thing about camping, tent camping that is, is my 4 o’clock vigil.
A life of ease has trained my body to walk about 15 steps from the bed to the bathroom commode when I waken at 4 AM. At least I do awaken and sometimes I even take a moment to look out on a moonlit yard or take a short walk in the moonlight with my dogs before climbing back into bed to finish off the night, my shivering body quickly giving way to warmth and comfort.
So, what is the problem with the campground vigil, you may ask. I have trained my body to take 15 steps to relief. Seldom is a campground facility closer than a quarter of a mile from my bed. Knowing this brings about an opposite reaction than it should. I lie there in the covers enveloped in dark stillness dreading the act of pulling on my cold clothes and shoes and hiking or driving, in extreme cases, to the closest potty. Sometimes this hesitation results in sleep. It always results in extreme duress.
By the time I give in to the need, my body, the cold, and the distance are not my friends. Carefully I climb from the warm, comfy camp bed and begin searching, in the dark for my head lamp, quietly, so as not to disturb my sleeping husband. This most often results in a hand or knee in his stomach. I recoil pull the headlamp from its clip hanging above the bed. Headlamp in place, I turn it on and shine it in his squinting eyes. “Sorry,” I whisper and begin the quest for my clothes. I’ve learned to set them out before bed, like a school child. I pull on my sweater, every muscle tight, because of my delay. Looking at the cold jeans I must make a decision. In a full campground, it’s a hard decision, but common sense usually wins out in the end. There is no way I’m getting that cold garment on my legs and ending up dry. I slip on my shoes, drape the jeans over my arm and unzip the tent. The cold air hits me like a running river. This will be difficult.
I look at the tree behind the tent. It looks wide enough and I know I wouldn’t harm it, and I am in pain. But I am a lady even in a campground. So I begin picking my way through the tents between my own and the facility. What idiot is sitting in front of a campfire at 4 AM? Actually, now it's closer to 5. Clad in long johns with jeans over my arm, do I smile and acknowledge his presence and stare, or do I just keep my gaze fixed on my destination and pretend he can’t see. I know I’m already walking funny and any route but a bee line is unthinkable. Politely, he turns his gaze away. I hurry on gratefully. “Mornin,” he says as I pass his site. I don’t stop to chat.
Reaching the bathhouse brings a renewed pain to my abdomen. I rush inside to find several women! The showers are steaming, the stalls are full. In a state just short of panic, I notice one empty and rush to relief. I don’t know what sound I make exactly, but it always brings concern on those in their early morning oblations. I assure those questioning that I’m not having a seizure or heart attack.
Finished, I pull on my jeans, wash my hands and face and explain hastily what brought about the alarming noises. Some sympathize; some indulge me with an unknowing smile; some just look at me like I’ve lost my mind. Once a lady kindly recommended Depends! That recommendation introduced many more questions than solutions in my mind.
Back outside the air is cool and crisp. The sky is still black scattered with sparkling stars and a cloud or two waiting for the dance of dawn to begin. Smoke curls up from dying campfires that warmed and entertained campers the night before. A sprinkling of campers are up. Maybe they woke early, maybe they didn’t go to bed. Enlivened, I make my way back to my tent. As I pass my previous encounter, I quietly say “Mornin” thinking maybe he’ll appreciate the fact that I’m dressed.
Back inside my tent, I pull off my outer clothes and once again snuggle into the warm soft bed. Contented, I succumb to the sleep enveloping my mind and body knowing the 4AM vigil is completed for this day.
The picture was taken off the east overlook from Petit Jean Mountain near Morrillton, Ark.