Camping in Vermont is kindof like dragging a tent out into the swamp. It really makes no difference if I drive half an hour to the National Forest. It looks just like my backyard especially when:
I am woken up by someone mowing their lawn at 7:30 in the morning. Anyone mowing the lawn in the forest really has too much time on their hands.
I wander off down a path that leads off into the woods behind my campsite, thinking I'll go off and get lost and have an adventure. It was all nice and murky and damp and buggy until after 50 feet I run into a dirt road that is someone's driveway.
Trains go by, compete with the clickety-clack train sound and whistles. Is there a train in this forest? A happy elf train?
I'm still sharing a toilet with 28 other slobs who spit on the faucet, leave the toilet seat damp, and don't make enough noise for me to use to cover up the sounds I make when I really need to go.
A man tells me I'm paddling wrong just because we're going in circles. Maybe there's a friendly dolphin under the canoe who wants us to stay over in this part of the lake. Maybe we've become trapped in a Stephen King novel. I know how to paddle--I play Wii sports!!! I'm proud to say that my arms aren't even sore this morning!
I immediately made friends with a chipmunk who wandered around the lean-to and then ran under my chair. I fed him some cashews cause he was giving me that hungry look, like he'd soon be nibbling on my toes in the middle of the night. He must have heard from the squirrels that I was an easy target.
My pillow still gets stolen. I ran out of wine. I dreamed about Wyoming and food all night.
So couldn't I just do this from the comfort of my own lawn next weekend?