Condemned

            The tent used when the kids were little was a two-room monstrosity. Zipping together a partition could separate the two sides of the tent. This served our purpose for a number of years, but I guess even camping gear has a life expectancy which seems to run out at the most inopportune moments.

            The kids would sleep toward the back of the tent while we would sleep near the front. Over time, a small hole started at the seam near the ground in one of the back corners. Of course, the kids could not leave it alone. One of them would always pick at it a little more as they fought sleep gradually making it bigger.

            Late one night as we slept, the weather made a turn for the worst. Clouds rolled in accompanied by the distant rumble of thunder and lightning flashed on the horizon. The wind rustled leaves as it brushed the treetops. The sounds of the approaching storm stirred us somewhat but did not really concern us. This was not to be the first rain weathered in a tent nor the last, but it would become one of the most memorable.                                      

            The breeze stiffened to gusts of wind. Trees swayed and our tarps snapped sharply above the tent. Drizzle at first, the rain soon poured from the sky in blowing sheets through the campground. Bright flashes danced across the sky illuminating the forest for moments at a time. Thunder echoed endlessly off the mountains.

            During this deluge, it happened. A strong gust grabbed the hole just right and ripped it all the way across the back of the tent. Rain poured in and the wind caused the tent to come alive. The sides and top would blow outwards and then back in. When I awoke, the tent appeared to be coming down on me. A startled cry escaped my lips as I jerked to a sitting position and looked around. It was a terrible way to wake up.

            Hurriedly, I threw shoes on and ventured outside into the lashing storm to see if anything could be done about the tent. In no time, I was drenched and it was not looking good for the tent either. There was no way to fasten any stakes or line to the ripped canvas. My only option was to move the tarp over the tent down to cover more of the exposed rear. To do this, I had to untie the ropes holding it. The wind thoroughly enjoyed itself at this point making it no easy task getting the tarp situated again. The tarp was whipping around like a canvas sail torn from its mast.

            Finally accomplishing what had temporarily seemed impossible, I sloshed back inside. My ex-wife had faired little better than I. The rain had created puddles that joined together to form a small lake within the tent. She now had all the driest blankets, sleeping bags, and pillows piled in the center of the tent. On this pile, we all huddled for the remainder of the mostly sleepless night.

            The next morning dawned with clear skies. Besides the tent, the only evidence of Mother Nature’s fury the night before was small tree limbs littering the campsite and a few things blown off the picnic tables. After a close inspection of the damage, it was decided this tent had made its last trip. We could stand at the front and look straight through out the back. I think it took most of the day for the sun to dry our soaked gear. Fortunately, the rest of the trip was free from rain.

Attempting to find humor in the whole situation, I tore a piece of cardboard from a box for a sign to hang over the front entrance.

It said just one word, “Condemned”.