That night I spent half an evening scrolling through images of tents that could provide shelter and a certain comfort for a larger array of guests at the Ranch. It was a tough crowd to please. Few appreciated the solitary simplicity of tenting beneath low hanging branches of the big Cottonwood Tree, sleeping on the ground on a thin mat in a one-man shelter for any extended period of time, or any time for that matter. Where I found peace and solitude, detaching from the outside world for a time, others only imagined sleepless uncomfortable nights where the uneven ground gave rise to aches and pains, tossing and turning, bugs and stickers, dirt and unruly hair. The perceived experience was draining and hard, possessing no redeeming value, comforts, nor pleasure. So, it was important, if I wanted her and others close to us to experience the place, to provide the proper balance between sleeping on a mat to staying at the Marriott.
Image after image of every possible configuration of tent scrolled past, made of incredible material that could weather the gales of Everest to the humble pup model we used as kids. Some tents featuring separate rooms containing massive footprints, while others were simple in design. And, some were brand spanking new, while others had seen better days.
At about the four hundredth image, an old fashioned, not technical, simple looking white canvas wall tent appeared. Set in a meadow, with a stove stack jutting out of a hole in the slanting roof with ropes extending to the sides staked to the ground to hold it up. “That’s kind of cool”, I mumble under my breath. The front canvas opened by a slit down the middle as each side was rolled diagonally and fastened with canvas ties, leaving a large pie shaped opening. Set up in a small clearing in a forested setting, it had simple nobility to it, much less than a cabin or permanent dwelling, and way cooler than an RV, by a mile. The lines were clean and straight, the apex of the ridgeline at the front elevation was tall, the wall rose above the ground vertically to what looked to be about five feet or so, roomy, to boot, rustic, masculine, sturdy, portraying a sense of permanence, yet expressing a certain freedom and independence. I really dig this.
My mind raced, heart rate increased as a flood of ideas swirled inside my head. This could work. She would dig it, I know her, as I recalled the many summer sojourns with the kids to dwell for a week at Colter Bay on the other side of the Tetons. She will get this and so will Lauren and Logan and the little ones. This is the real deal.
The purveyor of this tent was out of Denver. Mr. Davis answered the call, but it was sadly learned that his shop was back logged for months. If the idea was to squeeze out the remains of the summer and part of fall that schedule would never work. Impatient and with a certain zeal for this new found solution to the “gimme shelter” dilemma, the search was on. It was a shock to find the same lead time problem everywhere I turned to satisfy this urge to set up camp on the Ranch.
At this point the decision to go this way was now solidified in my psyche. Fixed permanently as the only “true” solution, to finding that nexus of perfection between the stoic’s life and the indulgence of comfort so many of us are drawn to.
In my experience, most of us, in our quest to break out of the routine of life, tend to not fully commit to the task of shedding, for a time, the creature comforts that we believe make our lives more complete. The acceptance and assimilation of these accoutrement's of living in affluence and comfort separate us from the natural world. This tends to nurture a certain complacency toward the way we live. If we never test ourselves against the relative crudeness of a stripped down life for a time we don’t allow ourselves to appreciate those comforts to which we have grown so accustomed. Without the backdrop of simplicity or austerity to compare against modern living, we tend to devalue our common existence by not fully comprehending the high level of comfort we all share. I'm probably making too much of this. In the end it’s just a tent, but it’s a very cool tent.
To hell with the internet. I’m off to find it locally. REI had nothing. Cabella’s was too far to go. But, Kirkham’s may just have it. Climbing the stairs to the second level, there it sat in its entire white cotton duck splendor. Perfect. 10 X 12. One side-wall rolled up, bay window on the other side and a triangular zipped window on the end. Nice set up. The sales guy was a young kid possessing little knowledge of the ins and outs of this type of tent. I kindly asked him to find his manager so I could talk to the “Man”.
Mr. Big came up, he was knowledgeable, we discussed the relative merits of this model, then he disclosed that they were out of stock and a new one could be take six weeks to build. Damn. I asked, “what about this one”. He replied, “It’s the floor model”. “Well, how much do you want for it”? He scratched his hairless head for a minute, paced about a bit and said. “It’s the only one I have”. I replied, “I’m ready to buy, are you ready to sell?” He looked troubled. I could tell this was a big deal. He stood there as if the weight of the decision was nearly too much to bear, then he looked up and said, “sure, I’ve never been too keen on this model, anyway’, he disclosed. We haggled over the price and a deal was struck.
Oh, the possibilities.
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