Camping with Cowboy

I sit tonight under the stars on the tailgate of my pickup, deep in the woods in Southern Schoharie County. Tall pine trees tower over me as I look at a sky that has finally cleared out and the stars are shining brightly down on me. A nice big campfire provides light, as does my overhead florescent lamp powered by my truck when I turn it on to write.

I yehaw at the moon with my cowboy hat on, drinking yet another Corona. I listen to yet another top-40 country music song, inter-spaced with some obnoxious religious right talk on another station that seems so powerful out here. I cook myself a meal on the old gas stove made of eggs, hash, potato chips, and lots of Corona. I’m in heaven it seems.

I just love being alone, playing cowboy out in the woods around the fire. I’m increasingly drunk, but at the same time I am so much at ease, so peaceful in a kind of redneck-y kind of way. I love my pickup truck and I love the woods. I’m just not sure how I could ever live without such a free life.