*Note- certain terms used in the “Epic Camping Trip” texts may require reference back to the “The Dictionary of Tom.” These terms have been linked back to said reference for your convenience.
Dear John,
I find myself wishing that we were still in the outback with the stars shining overhead and the critters rummaging about in the night. Something so soothing about the crickets chirping, leaves ruffling, Tom snoring, Jono butt trumpeting…the cars roaring past and neighbours have vigorous relations just isn’t doing it for me now that we’re back in the city. There was something utterly brilliant about being so far removed from the majority of people, yet never feeling less alone in my life. In those quiet peaceful moments, often as you boys got high or entertained no-win scenarios of the grotesque vein, I reflected back on Tom asking me why I chose Christianity; why I chose to believe in God. I’d sit breathing in deeply all the creation around me, spending time with you boys who I have grown to love, and I felt that I couldn’t help but to believe and furthermore, to absolutely adore. My heart swelled so with joy and contentment that I felt it might burst, but had a sneaking suspicion it was intended to overflow instead. I never anticipated how much of a changed woman I’d be after five days, four nights, three boys, two tents, and one epic camping trip.
Love and Hugs, Diana
P.S. You have terrible morning breath but I still love you.
If you think it’s annoying to lose an item in your household, try losing one of the 25 items you own in the world whilst living out of a backpack, staying in someone else’s home who you may never see again, and on the morning you are scheduled to
A happy breakfast makes for a happy day.
go on an epic camping adventure. I did my best to maintain my composure, calmly retrace my steps, and be as gracious as possible as John’s mum valiantly search through the rubbish for my prized turquoise ring. As the continued search came up with no result, I began praying either for help finding the ring, or peace with having lost it. But in that moment, I couldn’t help but feel some despair at not being able to keep track of so few items. My ring was, of course, in the top pocket of my pack, having slipped off as I was stuffing clean underwear in, apparently. Nonetheless, I was embarrassed to have had such a “silly girl” moment, especially as we mounted upon a rugged camping expedition. Well, at least we were starting off with a prayer.
Things continued to go slightly less than smooth as we went to pick up our third camper, Tom. Arriving in front of his house, both John and I stood somewhat flabbergasted as Tom brought bag after bag after bag out of the house. The items: A large
rug, a serving platter, a glass grinder, duffel bags of clothing, christmas presents, and other stained glass tools. My OCD eye (the left one for future reference) twitched a bit as bag after bag was haphazardly thrown in back nearly consuming the boot of John’s Land Cruiser, and we still had groceries and another person to pick up. Oi Vey. Then John realised that he forgot the brownies I made at his mum’s house. Back we went. Then Tom remembered he forgot a guide book back at his house. Back we went. Then, finally, we were off to the Gold Coast, two hours out of our way to pick up Jono, even though Tom had told him three times NOT to fly into the Gold Coast airport. At this point I’m laughing a bit, either being extremely laid back or nervous about the remainder of this trip.
1 of 4 copies of John's itinerary. His OCD makes my heart smile.
In fact it went quite well with only a few small instances of brake failure, heat stroke, and tickos. But more on that later. The drive to our first campsite was largely uneventful; only reacquainting myself with the realisation that boys are gross, ew, and being caught off guard by Jono’s question, “Are you quite serious about your religion?” It was the first of a series of theologically based questions for which I was grateful for in the long run, but at the current time kind of made me feel like a rare creature on exhibition. I’m sure that in the initial stages the boys were concerned that I would rain on their parade since it was clear in the first five minutes we were all together that I wouldn’t be partaking of the 3/4 oz of pot they’d purchased. Tom meekly asked if I drank alcohol to which John replied in my stead, “Oh, she can drink.” It developed into an interesting conversation about why smoking pot would be considered wrong, but drinking not. I remembered having a similar conversation with my beloved friend, Joe, back home. In my understanding, one smokes pot for the intent of altering the mind. I can drink alcohol without altering my conceptions and I don’t drink it for that purpose. My mind, having been created by God, is God’s domain for him to be in control, not a substance. I loved that I was in a car with three pot-loving boys, one of which I knew was an atheist, the other two plausibly the same, and yet we were chatting up the subject of God. Whether there was one true religion? Whether the Bible is truth or fiction? The whole time I prayed for the right words from God, and thanked him that I’d grown to trust my friend John through the last week. It gave me comfort and courage to be truthful with my answers, even if they were controversial to the audience. Being a 24 year old virgin who doesn’t do drugs or get drunk and who does proclaim the glory of God was a particularly odd but beautiful thing in this vehicle. I wouldn’t have wanted to be any other place in the world.
John drove the whole time. The entire 3000km. He didn't look quite this chipper at the end.
Our first campsite was located in Washpool National Park. We were a bit anxious driving in, largely about wanting to find a secluded site not infested with,”sweaty kids on bikes,” as Tom
Platypus lips never get old. Especially in Australia!
affectionately deemed them. If there were a scale of schitziest to most reserved, the rankings would be Tom, Me, John, and still kind of unsure as to where Jono fits in. I reckon the best way to describe Tom is a hyperactive man with the unbridled heart of a child, touch of beach bum surfer, who has great taste in literature. Additionally, Tom has a habit of making outlandish suggestions (panning for gold, Japanese river walking, making robots that served pancakes, jumping into any stationary water source, wanting to go off roaring in restricted areas in the national parks, and so on) out of which John and I have decided that 1/20 was plausible and of value. Still, he really kept us entertained, and only rarely ticked us. Luckily for us, our first night was spent in a fantastically remote, lush, and picturesque site entirely free of sweaty kids on bikes. Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but do a double take for Australian serial killers as I trekked to the compost toilet late at night. Overactive imagination and bladder. Alas. I also couldn’t help but fall into my role as den mother. As soon as camp was set up, I was chopping up potatoes, onions, and apples, and quickly learning that manhood does not come with an inherent understanding of creating fire nor fortitude when it comes to spiders, krill predators, nor slightly less than pristine toilets. I was, perhaps, too distracted as I stared in disbelief at Tom using aerosol bug spray to light a fire, resulting in back blast of course, and in turn chopped a wee bit of my thumb off. Well, it’s not camping until you’re bleeding, right? John also incurred injury whilst taking over the fire duties, thank goodness, building a respectable sausage roasting blaze. We feasted on wine, sausages, and roasted potato/onion/apple thanks to John’s mum who supplied us with camping plates, utensils, a butane stove, and lantern. Mum knows best. The five-dollar camp chairs John and I bought from Kmart proved to be an epic failure, however, as Jono came crashing down, the plastic snapping under his weight. The poor guy took a lot of
Sky was looking a little grim on the drive up...
flack for it. The following day, I broke the other one. The boys wisely kept their comments to themselves.
Tom the exuberant
The first night with the boys was fascinating. I mentioned that I came to Australia because God told me to. If they didn’t think I was a wacko before, they surely did as I tried to explain what hearing God is like, exactly. I smoked the pipe gifted by my brother filled with a fine tobacco blend, they smoked spliffs. I got giddy with the sound of possums, lizards, birds, and all other variety of krill predatorstramping about outside, the boys fretted a bit although surely Tom’s snoring was aversion enough to any local creature. I ended up using John’s arm as a pillow at some point and the boys in the other tent got a surprise visitor in their tent, despite the snoring. And in the morning, John and I awoke at 0630hrs to a sun-dappled forest canopy, cool breeze, and a breakfast of leftover potatoes. After a short hike through the muddy cobweb strewn paths of the forest, I looked at John and said, “Can we do that thing where I hug you and you pretend like you don’t hate it?” We both smelled of stale smoke with a hint of b.o., but there was nothing better than loving on a good friend in the middle of heaven on earth.
Heaven on earth.
Seven years ago, I didn’t get into Yale and defaulted to Notre Dame. There I met one of my most cherished friends, Laura Lazar. I left Notre Dame after two years moving back to Ohio, graduated, and found myself looking for a job, a career, a purpose. I tried out culinary school, forcing me to work second shift at Safe Auto Insurance where I met my first boyfriend, subsequently had my first break up, and worked 80 hours a week to cope. With that overtime pay, I was able to pay off my school and car debts and save substantially, giving me financial freedom. After two years working for the company, I felt my soul dying and having hit rock bottom trying to figure it all out myself, finally submitted my whole life- love, job, property, purpose- to God. Upon his word I came to Australia where Laura’s friend from high school in Hong Kong, Andrea, lives. Through Andrea I met John, and fell in love with this amazing group of friends in Coogee. Despite an exquisite amount of planning for Christmas, my stay on a clothing-optional banana plantation affiliated with WWOOF fell through, forcing me to humbly ask John for a chance to stay with him and him Mom in Byron Bay. That turned into this outrageously blessed outback camping expedition. Ever have that feeling that you’ve been poking about in the dark with no clue of what you’re doing, but still somehow ended up in the right place? I think that’s called grace.
I guess even in Heaven there's poo.
In the morning we set off again, riding the high of our first perfect campsite and maybe some remnants of THC in the boys’ case. Sadly, when you start off that high, there’s a long way to fall. To be continued.
John, working on the fire while the boys chill...this is after the bug spray incident
I wasn't using that part of my thumb anyway.
And this burn just gave John a good excuse to show everyone his middle finger...a lot
A sausage-worthy blaze.
Which of course makes for a happy sausage!
Potatoes never tasted so good!
Thank you Susan for supplying us with necessities that kept us from perishing!
The chair of shame, take 1
A cricket half the size of my hand
So excited for this beautiful morning!
The classic outdoorsman pose.
Dang. Hot Dang.
can’t wait for part 2!