Henry is going through a midlife crisis
A People Watching Story
Welcome to Let’s Get Lost! I’m Rebecca, a recipe developer, food photographer, passionate people watcher, and chaser of new experiences. You might know me from my recipe websites, Of Batter and Dough and A Little and A Lot.
My husband and I are nomads without a home base but with many modes of transportation, namely an RV, a motorcycle, and a sailboat. I write recipes and stories for curious people who believe experiences are more important than things and who want more adventure.
Hello! I’m taking the week off for the Christmas holiday, so instead of the usual newsletter, I’d like to share a new People Watching story with you. (If you’re new here and curious about what “usual newsletter” means, here’s where to check out some past issues.)
People watching has always been one of my favorite activities. So, when we moved into an RV, I was delighted to discover that the people watching opportunities in campgrounds are spectacular.
Campgrounds (and marinas) are busy places, filled with all sorts of people constantly coming and going. Some of these fellow campers capture my imagination and I make up stories about them.
I give them names, spin up a history, and weave together a story. This is the fourth such story I’ve shared here. You can read the others here.
For those of you who celebrate, I hope you had a wonderful holiday week. I’ll be back next weekend with new recipes and a few photos from our own holiday celebration. ❤️
Henry
Henry is going through a midlife crisis even though he’s a good twenty years past the part of life anyone calls mid. He has a brand new canary yellow jeep outfitted with high tech camping gear, including a roof top tent, fresh water containers, a shovel, an ax, several really good flashlights, binoculars, and 2 extra gasoline cans even though he doesn’t really like to travel very far from home.
He’s especially enamored with the slide out kitchen system he installed himself in the back of his jeep. A “nomad kitchen”, the salesman called it, with everything he needs for outdoor cooking, including a propane stove, a refrigerator, a built-in cutting board, and a sink that’s connected to a small water tank.
Henry doesn’t know how to cook very many things. Until his wife died last year, he never had to.
Henry parks his jeep in the camping spot he reserved 3 months ago. It’s a small campground, nestled into the foothills, next to one of the busiest highways that runs through the Colorado Rockies.
He pulls into his space, gets out, assesses his position, gets back in, and readjusts.
It’s 1pm on Friday and the park is filling up with weekend campers. He waits patiently for a family in a truck towing a large camper to get situated before he can safely back his jeep out of his camping spot for the third time. A little more to the right this time so he’ll have enough room to set up his camping chairs next to his portable fire pit.
Henry sits in the driver seat for a few minutes watching the family with the large camper. A happy looking dog dangles eagerly out the window of the truck, tongue hanging out, slobber flying everywhere. The kids are already running around and the dog whips back and forth from one open window to the next, an illicit bark escaping every now and then, palpably bursting at the seams to be allowed outside.
Henry’s dog, Princess, waits dispassionately in the passenger seat of the Jeep, curled up and half asleep. Henry looks at the wildly excited dog in the neighboring space and then looks at Princess. She opens one eye then closes it again.
Princess is not her actual name. It’s a nickname that Henry devised to tease his wife. It hit the mark, generating an exasperated eye roll and sometimes a playful punch in the arm, and always an “oh Henry, stop it.’ Princess was her dog and now that it’s just the two of them, the name feels less like a joke and more like an accusation.
Princess is not an outdoor dog. She’s uninterested in chasing squirrels. She’s not curious about the other campers. She declines, on principle, to touch the dirt. So, the first thing Henry does once he approves of his parking job is pull her large cushy bed from the back seat and position it just outside the driver side door. He fills a dish with water and another with dog food and sets them next to the dog bed. Then he begins the process of coaxing Princess from the jeep. This is a delicate, diplomatic process for which Henry has little patience, but also little choice.
She eventually acquiesces and steps gingerly from the jeep to the bed, paws barely brushing the ground. She lays down and sighs like the whole ordeal is ridiculous and beneath her.
The dog in the truck next to them spots Princess and explodes with enthusiasm. Princess regards him, unimpressed, then turns her head and goes to sleep.
Henry gets to work setting up. It’s full of purpose, setting up camp. It’s his favorite part! Out comes the portable fire pit and the small fire extinguisher (because you can never be too safe). Out come the very nice, very expensive camping chairs. Two, just in case he happens to strike up a conversation with someone and can offer them a chair. Out comes the nomad kitchen, sliding easily on the freshly greased tracks, the propane camping stove, the same canary yellow as his jeep, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Up goes the pushbutton activated rooftop tent, down goes the ladder. Henry climbs up the ladder and unzips the door, reaching inside to press the button on his self inflating air mattress. Satisfied, he climbs back down and examines his handiwork.
The dog from the family next to him pulls one of the children down the road. The little boy grips the leash with all his might and watches as his sister, laughing, runs ahead to the playground.
Princess snores. Loudly. A reminder that fun is optional, even when camping.
Henry gets a coke from his refrigerator, sits, stands, makes a sandwich, sits again, eats half, checks his phone. His thumb hovers over his daughter’s name, then his son’s. He considers calling one, then the other, and decides against it. Since their mother died, they always answer, even when they’re busy, and they’re usually busy.
They’ll ask, “What’s up?”
“Nothing much”, he’ll say, “just camping”.
“Oh, good dad! I’m glad you’re getting out!”
He’ll let them go because they’re busy. They won’t have time to talk just then, and he doesn’t really have anything to say.
He puts the phone away.
Henry retired after his wife died. Bought the Jeep. Bought the gear. In their 40 years of marriage, most of what he did for fun was organized by his wife. He needed something to do.
The Jeep was an odd choice, everyone said so. He’s not in the greatest shape and outdoor activities were never his thing. He’s more like Princess than he’ll ever admit.
But the whole project of buying the Jeep and getting it outfitted with all the gear was exhilarating. So much research! So much searching for the best things and the best price and the best way to organize everything! All the comforts of home packed into a vehicle that could take him anywhere!
And besides, isn’t this what you’re supposed to do when you live in Colorado? Before, he was working. But now…
His wife always wanted to go camping and hiking and kayaking. He wishes he would have done it with her. He wishes she’d gone without him.
He lights the flame of his portable fire pit even though it’s 80 degrees. He turns it off. He repositions his chairs so they are in the shade.
A young family pulls into the space next to him, a mom, a dad, a little girl. They wave. He waves back. The parents get to work setting up their tent while their little girl, maybe 6 or 7, entertains an invisible audience. Cartwheels, bows, spontaneous opera. A whole Broadway show performed before the parents can unpack.
And then she sees Princess.
She whispers into her mother’s ear. Her mother smiles and walks over. “Hello! This is Clementine.”, she says, pointing at the little girl. “Could she say hello to your dog? Is she friendly with children?”
Princess, traitorous beast, raises her head and practically smiles.
For an hour, Clementine talks and talks and talks. She tells Henry stories that defy the laws of nature. She shows him her best dance moves and performs wobbly cartwheels that send Henry to his feet in reflexive, protective, alarm. She laughs like he’s the silliest thing she’s ever seen. She pets, and hugs, and kisses Princess who, inexplicably, allows it.
Clementine’s mother walks over to ask about his portable fire pit. She points to a pile of firewood. It’s getting dark and they didn’t realize this particular campground did not come with fire pits. After an awkward, fearful moment of hesitation, Henry takes a deep breath and asks if they’d like to join him. They pull their camping chairs over before he finishes the question.
They ask about his rooftop tent and gawk at his nomad kitchen. He tells them all about the adventures he’s planning, knowing it’s unlikely that he’ll follow through. But, tonight the plans are are real. Tonight, he’s the adventurer they imagine him to be.
He can almost imagine his hands gripping a paddle. He can almost feel his feet on a trail with a dog who isn’t afraid of the dirt.
Clementine hoists herself up onto Henry’s lap and says, “I bet you’re a really good hiker.”
He’s not. But tonight, he lets himself think that he may yet become one.
About the artist
Sarah Pilley is an artist, designer, and vegan food blogger based in New York City. She earned her Bachelor of Design in architecture from the University of Florida and incorporates those skills and her love of design in her work today. They specialize in watercolor, digital art, and colored pencil but love exploring new art mediums and creative projects. She enjoys many hobbies outside of work including figure skating, dancing, running, crocheting, writing, and spending time in nature.
For inquiries or commissions, send Sarah an email at sarah@alternativedish.com
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How sweet is this? Thanks - a lovely little story perfect for this liminal holiday weekend.
Wonderful reminder to get out there and live💕