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In short, it became our refuge in trying times. Dry, off the ground, with a mighty ceiling fan and a teeny heater, it weathers many eventualities. But this summer, the year we personally smacked into climate tried the bounds of its protective spirit. Pursuing an empty nester quest, we’ve been hiking every Minnesota state park. Only 14 left! We camp, try to hit two or three parks and their respective designated trails, then rest up for the next glob of parks.
But this summer, we were hit by unusual weather at every turn. Starting with a monsoon-like deluge in early summer as we tried to knock off a few southwestern Minnesota park hikes. The rain started, sheeted through an entire day, continued through the night and developed a stream through our campsite. It was a disturbing, flooding, angry rain. We quickly packed up in the morning, worried the slight slope to the dirt road out of the site would wash out.
Early fall brought two trips. One to northwestern Minnesota parks, the wind wound up all day until at 3 a.m. tornado sirens drove us, dragging a standard poodle through the rain and lightning to the cement block bathroom for refuge. No sleep that night, just a pounding heart that was hard to settle.
It’s just one, anecdotal, limited sample. But it’s my eyes, my outdoor sensory systems raising alarm bells. In my heart, I feel it’s here. The change, the twisting of the formerly stable weather systems into something else. The planet pushing back, trying to right our wrongs. So we must try and push with it, seeking new solutions to temper our impact on this one of a kind spectacular planet. Maybe we just hit some bad camping days, but as a lifelong outdoorswoman I feel it was no coincidence. Oh planet Earth, message received.
