A tent is a giant sail
On the windiest day in recent memory, I happened to look out my window to see a giant orange tent blowing about my neighbors yard. This tent was no stranger to me, for on my daily romps around the ‘hood over the last week, I had noticed it baking on the front lawn a few doors down.
It seemed to lodge against an entryway, so I mentally shrugged it off that it would be secure, and went back to work.
After dinner, I harnessed up my impatient pup, and corralled my equally impatient husband and we started an evening journey around the neighborhood. Lo and behold, the orange tent had dislodged and was flapping about like a wounded bird in yet another spot in another neighbors yard.
We went about our business so as not to break the routine. Several other dog-walking neighbors passed by, all gazing in the tent-nee-parasail’s general direction and dismissing it as not their circus, not their tent.
By the time we returned home, the tent had obtained a broken post and collapsed. The sight (and site) of a dead tent was finally too much for this camper to handle. I sauntered over, disassembled the poles as best as possible, rolled the limp canvas and trekked the husk back to the original owners. Who, naturally, were not home.
On their front step sat a damp Hello Fresh box, damaged and seemingly abandoned for as many days as the tent had been.
I slipped the tent through the handrail, securing the poles in a T shape to prevent the tent from becoming a parasail again. And I went on my merry way, pleased that the young child would see their tent upon their return.
Less than an hour after my self-congratulations for saving the gear, I hear my husband groan.
“Um, I don’t want to tell you this, but you may want to look at Facebook. The neighbor posted about the tent, “ he said to me in that gentle way he gets about him when he’s giving me bad news.
Facebook is rarely part of my life these days, so i dug out my login and hopped on the neighborhood page.
And I read this post:
“
I’m not sure who took down our expensive light weight tent, balled it up, and threw it on our steps, but in the future, I would appreciate it if no one trespassed on our property and touched our things…
“
Now, I’m not one to brag, but I’ve not recently been accused of committing a crime. Especially not one so very grandiose and premeditated as tent-napping. In fact, I’m generally fairly vanilla and (dare I admit it) basic. But here I was getting quite the unexpected boost of street cred. Quite literally. As in several people on the street had seen me chase down the tent and commit the noble misdemeanor to return it.
It took a few minutes for my brain to resolve the dissonance of my self-congratulations at being a Good Samaritan and being an outlaw. But upon the resolution, I opted to send a private note explaining what had happened.
I refrained from swearing and hurling inverse accusations of littering and labeling the tent as a deadly weapon when untethered. I opted for a private civil discourse. To which they replied
“… thank you and I’m sorry if I sounded rude’”
To which my husband said, “I don’t care how many tents you steal, I’m still going to love you.” 🙂
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