It is this moment that I decide to write this post the one I have been postponing for the past two weeks. It is not a special moment, but Debussy's Arabesque No.1 gives me the momentum I need. The soft but encouraging piano play sets the mood for both a start and a closure, for I have a big announcement to make: my life in a tent has come to an end.
I can't tell how big the tears were which I shed while sitting next to a tent that was 'beyond' repair. I don't like looking back at that weekend, a weekend full of beauty and ugliness, but I also don't want to forget about it. I obviously have told the story to many of my friends and family, but this is the one that holds as much of the truth as I can muster. I would like to present you the story of the drowning, the sinking, or the takeover of my tent by which it was send to its inevitable death.
First of all you need to know I moved the tent a couple of times, twice to be exact. One time I did it alone and the second time I did it with help of my lovely dad. I had to move the tent because of the weather, I set it up during the end of the summer, with lots of sun and beautiful weather. But as autumn was setting in, the winds grew stronger to the point I rather went outside than stay inside due to the sound the canvas made being pushed and pulled by the wind. From a rather open spot I moved to a spot where small trees were protecting my tent from harsh West and Southern winds. As autumn had fully set in, I was happy with my new spot as it protected me, but I soon also saw the downside of this particular spot - the shrubbery was keeping the sun from drying the canvas. And yes, that is all you need to know, there is not much left to your imagination now is it?
It wasn't till the beginning of December I first noticed the actual problem. Meanwhile I had enjoyed the (rather late) installation of my wood stove, cooking inside, and the day of the first snowfall, but without my notice the problem was actually growing, quite literally. I often despise myself for not having noticed it any sooner, but nothing could be done about it now. After I moved the tent to another spot yet again, the trees were allowing even less sun on the canvas so it almost never completely dried. I was fairly busy with college at that time, so I often left early in the morning and came home late, on top of that an area of low pressure was moving over the country so there weren't much sun hours to begin with as the whole sky kept being grey. All this combined and my stupidity as the cherry on top of the pie I saw one sunny and completely care-free morning the sun slowly shining it's light inside the tent. And as it's rays touched the inside of the canvas I saw, to my horror, soft and tiny hairs e-very-where. As far as I could clearly see with the help of the sun there wasn't a place that wasn't covered in tiny spots of creepy but beautiful mildew.
Many moments passed in that single moment I realised this meant nothing good. But as frantic I was I was also calm. There was nothing I could do about it that second, and there wasn't any change in my health during the time I first moved the tent and noticed tiny dark spots on the canvas, but thought nothing of it then. So an extra day would not hurt me either, but I have to admit I had some strange thoughts during the night - something about a mushroom monster that was going to absorb me by the act of symbioses... - it surely wasn't the most comfortable night I had. During the last days of that week I planned everything, from moving all my stuff to a dry place, to buying shampoo and the stuff for impregnation of the canvas. Within one day me and my dad moved a part of my stuff to my uncle, and the rest, along with the tent, to my old place since I was the only one with the space to actually clean the tent. But over a cup of coffee at my uncle's it became clear I would not return to live in my tent until the summer as the tent needs to be pitched in order impregnate the canvas and the weather was not allowing this, nor did I know anyone who had a dry place that allowed to pitch it after all. I was definitely sad finding this out, but at least I had the prospect of returning.
Arriving in my former home, I now had a home within a home... and from the first second I dropped the tent in the bathroom I knew this would not work out the way I had planned it. I pushed the thoughts away though, I was going to do this, I wanted this and where there is a will, there is a way. I started cleaning and cleaning and cleaning and there was no end to the canvas that needed to be washed. Finally I had cleaned the whole tent with water, it was as heavy as an adult man but I managed to get the whole thing to the living room. There I started to neatly fold it so I could clean each section individually so I would never miss a spot. I started to gently rub my tent with special shampoo, but the spots did not go away and the job was horribly difficult. As I spend more and more time shampooing the canvas I noticed that spots of mild dew stayed more or less the same. Was what I was doing not sufficient? So I called the company of the official canvas tent cleaning tools and they confirmed my thoughts. The game was over, there was no saving this baby anymore.
It wasn't till the beginning of December I first noticed the actual problem. Meanwhile I had enjoyed the (rather late) installation of my wood stove, cooking inside, and the day of the first snowfall, but without my notice the problem was actually growing, quite literally. I often despise myself for not having noticed it any sooner, but nothing could be done about it now. After I moved the tent to another spot yet again, the trees were allowing even less sun on the canvas so it almost never completely dried. I was fairly busy with college at that time, so I often left early in the morning and came home late, on top of that an area of low pressure was moving over the country so there weren't much sun hours to begin with as the whole sky kept being grey. All this combined and my stupidity as the cherry on top of the pie I saw one sunny and completely care-free morning the sun slowly shining it's light inside the tent. And as it's rays touched the inside of the canvas I saw, to my horror, soft and tiny hairs e-very-where. As far as I could clearly see with the help of the sun there wasn't a place that wasn't covered in tiny spots of creepy but beautiful mildew.
Many moments passed in that single moment I realised this meant nothing good. But as frantic I was I was also calm. There was nothing I could do about it that second, and there wasn't any change in my health during the time I first moved the tent and noticed tiny dark spots on the canvas, but thought nothing of it then. So an extra day would not hurt me either, but I have to admit I had some strange thoughts during the night - something about a mushroom monster that was going to absorb me by the act of symbioses... - it surely wasn't the most comfortable night I had. During the last days of that week I planned everything, from moving all my stuff to a dry place, to buying shampoo and the stuff for impregnation of the canvas. Within one day me and my dad moved a part of my stuff to my uncle, and the rest, along with the tent, to my old place since I was the only one with the space to actually clean the tent. But over a cup of coffee at my uncle's it became clear I would not return to live in my tent until the summer as the tent needs to be pitched in order impregnate the canvas and the weather was not allowing this, nor did I know anyone who had a dry place that allowed to pitch it after all. I was definitely sad finding this out, but at least I had the prospect of returning.
Arriving in my former home, I now had a home within a home... and from the first second I dropped the tent in the bathroom I knew this would not work out the way I had planned it. I pushed the thoughts away though, I was going to do this, I wanted this and where there is a will, there is a way. I started cleaning and cleaning and cleaning and there was no end to the canvas that needed to be washed. Finally I had cleaned the whole tent with water, it was as heavy as an adult man but I managed to get the whole thing to the living room. There I started to neatly fold it so I could clean each section individually so I would never miss a spot. I started to gently rub my tent with special shampoo, but the spots did not go away and the job was horribly difficult. As I spend more and more time shampooing the canvas I noticed that spots of mild dew stayed more or less the same. Was what I was doing not sufficient? So I called the company of the official canvas tent cleaning tools and they confirmed my thoughts. The game was over, there was no saving this baby anymore.
I shed tears over my defeat, over my loss, over my beautiful memories and over the anger of a beautiful tent going to waste. As the first heavy snow since years fell, tears streamed down my eyes. I said my goodbyes to my tent, with the smell of dried dirt in my nose, and welcomed the freshness and newness of the snow - the preface to the most wonderful time of the year.
Source pictures: Pexels.com
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