Last week's inauguration reminded me of the end of a horror movie, the part when the surviving cast members cornily pick up the wreckage of the previous night's massacre, hopeful that the worst is finally behind them. We are relieved and cautiously optimistic, but fully aware of all the work that's ahead of us if we want a better future.
The weeks leading to the election was the pinnacle of stress for many of us. We watched as COVID numbers began to climb, doom scrolled the news headlines, and tried to ignore the poll numbers. We voted early and by mail, sending away those ballots as if they were wishes, like blowing on a dandelion seed head. Knowing that the outcome of the election would be fraught with tension and even violence, I made a plan to escape civilization the weekend after the election.
Despite the high demands for campsites everywhere, I snagged a spot at Salt Point State Park, a coastal campsite on the Sonoma Coast. We lost cell service and were forced to live in the present as we drove further away from the city through dairy farms and along Highway 1. Camping forces us to simplify, and as we arrived we could only focus on shelter, food and keeping warm.
Our first night got us in survival mode as a pack of raccoons relentlessly rummaged through our site and ransacked our food through a tiny crack in the storage locker. Pissed to have lost an entire bag of Pirate's Booty, we spent our breakfast strategizing how to better store our goods out of reach.
The slowing down effect of camping is what I love most, I can only do things one at a time. Make coffee. Start breakfast. Nag Mattias to start the fire because it's hella cold. In that slowing down we decompressed-- the absence of internet and cell reception left us to process our feelings about the election and the world in a more insightful way.
Later at lunch we got a visit from Lolo and Lola, happy to use the road and the ocean to process some grief of their own. Not only did they visit, but they brought us Vietnamese food! We strolled down the trails to a picnic spot with a fantastic view, surrounded by sandstone that was used to adorn downtown SF buildings in the early 20th century.
After they left for home we took a hike to the Pygmy Forest, an area kept small due to the highly-acidic, nutrient-free soil and a below-surface hardpan layer that prevents drainage. For the 3.8 mile loop we took to see them, the boys were very "meh" about the dwarfed trees.
The following night was cold and windy, but the boys kept warm running around with children from a neighboring campsite. I had a special dinner treat: raclette and potatoes, complete with cornichons and white wine for the adults. Their reaction to the pungent cheese was entertainment for the night.
We were grateful to snag a campsite, as COVID makes reservations harder to come by. These trips give us respite from routine, allowing us to make meaningful memories in a year when everything seems like a blur.
As we home down Highway 1 and back into cell reception range the deluge of texts and voicemails came, celebrating Trump's election loss. Relieved, it felt like we moved just a little closer to a future we didn't feel the need to escape.
