China. Silver. Adorable tea towels. Deliciously prepared gourmet food. And don’t forget, pooping in the woods.
This is what we do once a year. A group of the finest, most amazing ladies I know pack up all of their camping gear (and our candles, china, and lacy pillows) and go out to our secret spot in the US Forest service land and “Glamp” (A.K.A. “Camping Glamorously”) for a weekend.
This is not the Glamping you have heard about on the Bachelor. This is not glamping.com. This is our own version.
We bring our wine. We bring our favorite coffee mugs and fuzzy blankets. We bring our gifts and talents and abilities and our femininity. Those of us who are talented at creating beautiful spaces – do. We hang hammocks and throw chenille blankets on the ground and hang triangle banners and create a beautiful space in the beautiful nature that surrounds us. Those of us who delight in preparing gourmet meals plan delicious dinners and breakfasts. We make crepes with lemon curd and eat them in the woods for God’s sake.
It’s a beautiful, sacred time. Husbands and boyfriends are not allowed. Children are not allowed. We talk about sex and use adult language. We talk about relationships and God and spirituality. We cry. We laugh. We bare our deepest souls, and normalize each others struggles, and we know that we are safe.
There is no schedule, no plan other than loosely planned times for meals. If we want to run, we go for a run. If we want to float on the lake in tubes and drink beer, wo do so. If we want to nap, we nap and it is glorious.
Glamping is glorious for me. It’s glorious because of the caliber of the lovely ladies that join. We get down to it and we talk about the real shit. The stuff you can’t say on Sunday or in front of your in-laws. You know, actual stuff.
Every year we have a different mix of attendees with a few core pillars, but always I find home here. These ladies are like me. They are my tribe. We end up with phrases like “What happens at Glamping stays at Glamping” and “That’s what HE said”.