When I Lived in a Tent

I sit shivering in my house on an early October morning and wanting to crawl back under the down blanket on our Queen-sized bed.  I think back to nearly 10 years ago when I was living in a tent at this time of year on a farm in Southwestern Colorado, at nearly 6,000 ft in elevation, and would stay almost a month more.

I had just graduated from college with a Bachelor’s of Fine Arts degree in Studio Art, but ever since being introduced to organic farming by some friends in my college town, it was where I determined I needed to be.  Like many Midwesterners, “bored” by the flatlands, I was entranced by the Rocky Mountains, had fallen in love with Colorado and had dreamed of living there since an early age.  And living in a tent?!  That just sounded like a great adventure!

So there I was, living in a tent on an organic farm in Colorado.  And it was  awesome, one of the best experiences of my life.  I lived in that tent through heat, altitude sickness and rainstorms, nosebleeds and snow.  It caused me to forge a great connection with the earth I lived upon: the phases of the moon, a deep respect for the sun and the fragility of human bodies facing the elements.

So this morning, I pet the household dog and shoved my cold fingertips beneath the warmth of his armpits, as I often did to the farm dogs to warm my hands after washing off carrots on forty-degree mornings.  They would shudder and glare at me, but Jack barely flinched, and I realized what I wuss I’ve become… thinking back to when I used to live in a tent.



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