Despite my praise of the last campsite I relocated to one that could not have a neighbor. Getting settled in required some digging, despite the newly built leveling blocks. Digging beneath your high wheel has the advantage of chocking that wheel -- a nice reassuring thing, since land is seldom flat.
I grit my teeth as I started to dig. It is never easy. Sometimes you hit your first rock in the first couple whacks. Imagine my surprise to hit nothing but dirt, and not just any dirt, but lush loose dark almost-black soil. I didn't believe such a thing was even possible in a Western state, the empire of rubble. And I was halfway up the mountains rather than in a valley, next to a river.
It would have surprised me more if I had struck a large nugget of gold or if oil had spurted out of the ground. But not by much.
I am making a big deal of this because it is so satisfying to get beyond the mindset of a scenery tourist and think about being a pioneer 150 years ago -- someone who wondered how they could possibly make a living on this attractive -- but rather useless -- land.
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