In 2010, on an island on Lake George in the Adirondacks, I was awakened from sleep (I was hammock camping) by a beaver whose territory I had, apparently, invaded. I had enough cell service to be on some camping forum getting advice for my rather intense and physical, not to mention frightening, predicament. It was quite the scene, ending up with me standing on the picnic table, glowing android in one hand, waving the other silently at my bared-teeth aggressor. All silently, because my friend was asleep in her tent and I didn’t want her to awaken and come out, lest she be endangered.

After about 15 minutes, having told me off sufficiently I suppose, the beaver left. 1-2 hours later I was able to go back to bed and get to sleep, although I got to see and photograph a beautiful sunrise first.

When I told the story to my family, my father’s response was “you didn’t need a cell phone, you needed a stick.” And while I realize he was right, perhaps I DID need a stick—for my other hand. The forum was hugely helpful. I didn’t feel alone. And I had the chance to fully appreciate the irony of the situation. Being simultaneously alone and not alone.

So yeah, I like camping. Not all of us do. My kids hate it. Probably because their childhood wasn’t as safe and secure as I would’ve wanted to make it, and we did some camping.