Turns out, thanks to my dad and my brother, there was nothing more to clean up than empty beer bottles. They had dismantled and stacked all of the rental tables and chairs, and the only thing left to do was pack up the tent.
Yeah. I took one look at that thing and laughed. The rental company did it, and I talked them out of charging me since I am just one lowly person and am OH SO AFRAID that the tent would collapse on her. Happy Birthday to me!
(There really was no way that I was going to be able to dismantle that tent by myself. It was like one of the tents at Art Fair, and it was far too complex and heavy for me to even attempt. Really. I'm not totally lazy ALL the time!)
But what really hit me was the feeling I got as I walked around the backyard, picking up empties - it was slightly overcast, just a little humid, and definitely chilly. It felt like I had just rolled out of a tent,
I haven't been camping in more than a few years, and that's sad! I love camping and I truly miss that morning feeling. I would usually wake up hours before everyone else (besides my mother, as she woke with the birds at like, 4:30 a.m.), sneaking out of the tent trying to make as little noise as possible, even though the tent zipper made a sound that seemed as loud as a chainsaw in the quiet campground. I'd saunter over to the campfire, attempt to get the fire started from the few embers too hot to be annihilated by the morning dew, and sit in relative silence.
Of course, as I got older and went camping on my own, the morning scene was similar - I'd still be awake before everyone else, but my morning peace involved many more beer bottles and half-empty bags of soggy chips. There would be all manner of debris in the fire pit from some point in the evening when we decided to play "Will it burn?," and there would generally be a few visitors in the near vicinity:
Anyway, as cute as the chipmunk was, I might be too far removed from camping at this point - that is, unless I get an air mattress...
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