I Survived A Night in a Tadpole Tent

And other Memorial Day memories

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Inside this issue:

• Let’s Remember Together 

• Into the (New Jersey) Wild, a Memorial Day story

• Exploring NatureVicariously

• Books We’ve Been Reading & A Moment of Zen in Words and Pictures

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“Proper names are poetry in the raw. Like all poetry they are untranslatable,” - W.H. Auden
“Bury us, and mark our names above. Let us be free.” - Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

Memorial Day: Let’s Remember Together

Monday is Memorial Day, the unofficial launch of summer and the first long weekend since we began to turn the corner on the pandemic. We’ll each be celebrating in our own ways and then, on Monday, we’ll be remembering those lost at war.

Everyone has their own way of honoring the dead. Last May, I shared a bit about how powerful it can be to simply hear the names of those who lost their lives when they went to war. 

“I joined the small crowd in folding chairs on the grass on a beautiful San Diego afternoon and felt the noise of the park and holiday crowds recede. For a few seconds, each person’s name fell into my ears like the first word of a story and the last. For those few seconds they were not strangers but fellow humans who left the towns they grew up in, families that may or may not have nurtured them, or schools they may have loved or hated. They may have been saints, they may have been sinners. They may have died without a chance to know who they really were. The sound of each name traversed the distance to which I’d grown accustomed, and touched me with a sense of profound loss.”

This year, I invite you again to share the names and any details you want to about those you will be remembering on Memorial Day. Use the comments section below or email me and I will add them for you. Let us remember together.

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Into the Wild: My Husband, A Tadpole, and Me 

“He was mastered by the sheer surging of life, the tidal wave of being, the perfect joy of each separate muscle, joint, and sinew in that it was everything that was not death, that it was aglow and rampant, expressing itself in movement, flying exultantly under the stars.”
― Jack London, The Call of the Wild

Back in the nineties when I was still getting to know the people in my husband’s life, his best friend and his wife invited us to celebrate Memorial Day weekend with them. We would be camping in the woods behind their house along with ten or fifteen of their friends, a newly-hatched tradition they hoped to keep up for years to come. 

We were, of course, honored. We were also stymied. My husband had told me early on in our relationship that his idea of roughing it is Motel 6. As for me, I love nature. I’m just not sure about spending the night in it. For one thing, I am afraid of the dark. For another, the walls of a tent are flimsy protection against the elements or anything with teeth, claws, and an appetite. 

We took a deep breath and decided to accept. How bad could it be? We would be in New Jersey, only a small distance from the house of our friends, T&J, on a small cul-de-sac not far from where the Lindberghs once lived. Only a brook and a short hike would separate us from plumbing or, if things got really bad, our car. 

But first, we needed a tent. The thought of buying one felt like too much of a commitment but after a few hours on the phone, I found a store that would rent one to us. I arranged for a tent that I swear had “cat” in the name but I can no longer remember. All I remember is that when we went to retrieve it the afternoon before we were due at our sleep-over, the tent we had reserved was not there. 

The man offered the only one he had left, something called a tadpole tent. He lifted up a small rolled bundle that could have fit in my purse. 

“This will accommodate two adults?” I asked.

“Depends on how big they are,” he replied.

The next day we arrived clad in our comfy jeans tucked into our socks and long sleeved shirts (Lyme disease), toting a small duffle with essentials (toothbrushes, extra layers, more socks), and the tadpole tent. T&J greeted us with the news that their house would be closed for the duration - no potty breaks. We would have to, like the bears, go in the woods. Deep breath. No problem, we had a travel pack of Kleenex between us. We followed them through their backyard, across a lovely little footbridge, and into a clearing where others had already assembled or were busy assembling their tents. The afternoon was lovely, sunlight filtered through the trees, the sky was soft and summery, a cooking area had been set up and a big vat of chili was on the menu. I relaxed. My husband was smiling. This was going to be okay. 

Then we tried to assemble the tadpole tent. All around us, tent after tent rose. Their owners set up folding chairs and started to chat and visit. I felt their eyes on us as we tried to figure out which stay threaded where and how the tadpole unfolded. Just as we thought we had it, the thing would fold in on itself with a derisive snap. When we’d finally gotten it figured out, we felt the surreptitious glances of our fellow campers at the tadpole tent which, when fully erected, came half-way up our shins in the front and trailed down to about a few inches in the back. We had to slither in feet-first. If we each slept on our side, we could fit. We, of course, did not bring chairs. We had sleeping bags - also rented - and a blanket to sit on. Still, there was a feeling of accomplishment and we were just beginning to feel okay again when the last folks arrived. We will call them the “L’s.” 

The “L’s” picked the site right next to ours for their tent. Their Airedale, Keisha, roamed and played with their kids while Mr. L. cheerfully and competently erected a tent McMansion. It had a sunporch. It had dormers. We suspected that it had rooms and a bathroom within. He greeted us with a smile and took in the tadpole with frank surprise and a laugh, as if we’d brought it as a joke. By the time the L’s had finished the tent, arranged their furniture, and settled in the chairs just inside their screened-in “porch” area, it was time for dinner, visiting, some singing, marshmallows. It was all lovely. All fun. I felt a little like I was back in Brownies.

When the time came, we slithered into the tadpole and tried to remove our boots. We slithered out again so we could do so. Then, leaving the boots outside the tent, we slithered back in and arranged ourselves for sleeping. Of course I had to pee again. I made my husband come with me and bring the flashlight so we could find our way back. Then, once again, we were snug inside the tadpole. 

Here’s the other thing about tents  -- they let every noise in. The rustling of small animals. The snoring of our neighbor. Intimate giggles from a couple a few feet away. A fart which made my husband and I giggle. The giggle turned into a laugh that we were barely able to smother. It WAS like being back in Brownies. A few folks sent out good nights from their tents and then, silence. Incredibly, we drifted off into a sleep intermittently interrupted by the snores of our neighbor and our ongoing negotiation about whose turn it was to roll over. 

In the darkest, quietest part of the night came the sound of a large animal charging through the brush. I went rigid. Closer and closer came the noise until all of a sudden, before I could move, something pounced on the part of the tadpole that sheathed my legs and I began to scream. I filled the night with screams. The animal began to bark -- it turned out to be the L’s Airedale, Keisha. One by one the occupants of the surrounding tents shouted out in alarm. 

My husband clapped his hand over my mouth and squeezed me to his chest. “Shh, quiet!” he hissed. Then he called out, “Sorry folks. So sorry, just a nightmare.” 

The next morning, folks woke up a little less cheerful than they had been the night before. We crept out of the tent and shamefacedly apologized to all. Coffee and a dozen doughnuts appeared and lifted everyone’s spirits. Not long after, we struck the tadpole, helped clean up, and took our leave. 

I don’t think anyone was sorry to see us go. 

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Short Reads From the Wild 

Maybe, like me, you like to immerse yourself in nature vicariously when the real thing is not at hand (or you are afraid of the dark). Here are some links to fun short reads to get you there:

• Primatologist Dian Fossey spent many long years in the jungle observing apes. One essential piece of equipment accompanied her until its batteries ran out. Here’s a letter she wrote mourning the passing of Max Standby, her vibrator. (I am now wondering anew about some of those sounds we heard from our fellow campers that Memorial Day weekend ).

• In March, in honor of Women’s History, The Sierra Club offered this roundup of 14 Fabulous Contemporary Lady Nature Writers. Among my favorites are this account of hiking the Appalachian Trail as a Black woman by Rahawa Haile. I’m also intrigued by the summary of Deborah Cramer’s book, The Narrow Edge: A Tiny Bird, and Ancient Crab, and an Epic Journey, an account of her three-year trek from the Antarctic to the Arctic, following the 19,000-mile migration of a type of tiny sandpiper called the red knot. Red knots are particularly imperiled by climate change, and they survive on the eggs of horseshoe crabs—primordial animals whose blue blood, it turns out, serves a crucial biomedical role: detecting bacterial contamination in human vaccines, and thus safeguarding human health.

• I came across this brief, inspiring excerpt from Living Like Birds, Loving Like Birds by Kathleen Dean Moore in The Dewdrop, a newsletter and labor of love from its founder Vanessa Able . The Dewdrop brings a little joy and serenity into my week every Saturday. 

• And here is a post, The Warbler’s Tree”, from Martin Ray whose blog Notes from Halibut Point keep me connected to a place that holds many beautiful and bittersweet memories for me: Halibut Point State  in Rockport, MA. 

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Books! 

Just Finished: 

Libertie by Kaitlyn Greenidge - I’m still not sure about the ending of this novel but I could not put it down. Greenidge reaches high with this story of a young woman who is struggling to know who she is, where home is, and how to love. At times the prose and insights to mother-daughter relationships stunned me with their insight and beauty. More than once I thought of Toni Morrison as I read this book.

Can’t stop reading:

American Housewife by  Helen Ellis - I made the mistake of starting this book the day I was going to lend my Kindle to my husband for a while. I want it back right now. I made him read the third one, “Dumpster Diving With the Stars” which made both of us laugh out loud. Most of these stories will do that and just as you are laughing the hardest, Ellis slips in the edge and shows us ourselves and how the world we’ve created can be a little horrifying. 

Such a Fun Age by Kiley Reid - While I’m waiting for the return of the Kindle and American Housewife, I’m reading this perfectly plotted study of what happens when assumptions and misunderstandings lead us to places we might not be able to back out of. I’m only a third of the way through but I’m struck by Reid’s empathy and how skillfully tells the story of two women who may know even less about themselves than they do each other which sends the stakes higher than either planned. It’s crisp, knowing, funny, and a page turner. 

Can’t wait to read

Unsettled Ground by Claire Fuller. I’m planning to sit in on this interview with the author on Wednesday, June 3rd at 1 PM Pacific Time (4 PM Eastern Time). If you are free, join me for the Zoom chat sponsored by The Book Catapult, one of San Diego’s wonderful independent bookstores.  Click here for the the Zoom link to hear and watch the interview.

Klara and The Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro. This one comes recommended by just about everyone including fellow Sparker Sandra DeHelen who shares a few reasons. 

Want to read again

What Are You Going Through by Sigrid Nunez. I loved this quiet novel by the author of The Friend, another book that has stayed with me and calls me from its place on my bookshelves. Nunez takes big unanswerable questions — love, friendship, the end of life, the need for connection and questions — and makes them accessible, human, and sometimes funny. I came upon each of these books when I most needed them and they helped me as well as taught me. 

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Sparkers Share Their Reads

Joyce from NC took The Murder House with her on her first post-pandemic vacation to the beach and it was a good choice, she says. Ditto for Lisa Scottoline’s One Perfect Lie and No Man’s Land by David Baldacci. She also read The Last Ballad by Wiley Cash, a story of millworkers in 1929 Bessemer City, North Carolina and promises to let us know what she thought of it. 

Sandra DeHelen of SoCal says this of Klara and the Sun by Kazuo Ishiguro: “This is his first novel after winning the Nobel Prize. He is a true master writer, and I’ve read all his books. Klara is set in the near future and the protagonist is an AF (Artificial Friend) who looks after a young teenage girl, after languishing a long time waiting to be chosen. The New York Times has an excellent review of the book. I didn’t read any reviews prior to reading the book — I relied on Ishiguro to keep me enthralled. I read this book in two afternoons. It is truly a page turner.”

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That’s it for this week. I wish you a safe and happy weekend. If you’re looking for a book to get your summer off to a good start, browse the Spark Community Recommendations Page at bookshop.org where all the books in this issue are listed along many others. Browse and if you buy, know that you will be supporting local bookstores and helping us to generate funds for literacy programs. Want to share this post? Here’s a button for that:

Let me know how you are and what you are reading. And don’t forget to share the names you would like us to remember on Memorial Day. Let’s remember together.

Gratefully yours, 

Betsy

P.S. And now, your moment of Zen...the forces that could sink us propel us home

Sparker Michelle D. of Florida shares her moment of Zen in words and in a photo that conveys the peace of coming safely to shore after a period of turbulence. She says of the photo “The boats appear so peaceful and at rest; existing beautiful in the moment as if in deep thought.”

Moment of Zen by Michelle D. 

Spending our moments thinking

Telling stories to my love

Gently swaying and giving a hug

Shared thoughts questioning still

Alarms set, anchors laid

Set patterns to follow

For what purpose

Existing for a moment

Sharing a space in time

Singing loud through the silence

Rocking on the turbulent waters

Waters chased by the wind

Swayed by the invisible wind

Powerful force

Which sinks ships

And propels them to shore.

Calling for Your Contribution to “Moment of Zen”

What is YOUR moment of Zen? Send me your photos, a video, a drawing, a song, a poem, or anything with a visual that moved you, thrilled you, calmed you. Or just cracked you up. This feature is wide open for your own personal interpretation.

Come on, go through your photos, your memories or just keep your eyes and ears to the ground and then share. Send your photos/links, etc. to me by replying to this email or simply by sending to: elizabethmarro@substack.com. The main guidelines are probably already obvious: don’t hurt anyone  -- don’t send anything that violates the privacy of someone you love or even someone you hate, don’t send anything divisive, or aimed at disparaging others. Our Zen moments are to help us connect, to bond, to learn, to wonder, to share -- to escape the world for a little bit and return refreshed. 

I can’t wait to see what you send!