Oh, how unexpected it was!
It started before we even arrived. I got a flat on the drive up from Atlanta, leaving myself and Mom stranded at a shopping center while tires were replaced. Sister, Hellion, and Clint came up separately and got a firsthand lesson in how much it sucks to tarp down a truck bed. By the time we finally made it to the cabin, Jim was passed out on the porch. We painted rocks, watched cheesy reality TV until way too late, and rested up for what we knew would be an unusual burn: the smallest we’d been to, and the rainiest.
Friday we rolled in and, thank god, the rain hadn’t started yet. Sister found us a spot and our little city homestead came together with our two tents, two canopies forming the living room between them. Clint, Hellion and Mom had the idea to tarp above the tents, and it was brilliant… Then the rain arrived. Jim prepped food. I braided hair. Mom read the latest Atlantic. Hellion changed her outfit at least five times. You know, the usual.
What we couldn’t have expected was what the rain would do to us. Because everyone was chasing dry ground, we kept finding each other. The intimacy of a smaller burn meant relationships formed faster and deeper than ever. On the night of my 32nd birthday, Clint, Hellion, Jim and myself went out. At some point, Jim and I looked at each other and said “fuck it”, and we danced. For hours. Hair drenched, clothes soaked, completely unbothered. There was a deep meaning we shared in that rain: my favorite people, my favorite day, my favorite things. I have never felt more connected.
And it kept going from there. Where else can you say you danced in the rain, talked about pizza toppings in a sauna, ate incredible home-smoked brisket and ramen, and went to church as the sun rose?
Ignite.
