Campfire Chat: When the Peepers Start and the Tent Moves Indoors

If you’ve been wondering why the February Trail Mix landed on March 1… well. Pull up a camp chair. It’s been a month.

But before we get into all that, let’s start where I always do.

🎧 On in the Background

Birds. And peepers. Honestly? That’s it.

One of the main reasons we moved to South Carolina from Maine was to escape what felt like seven months of winter. I respect winter. I do. Wintering is important. Nature needs it. We need it. But when February rolls around, and the birds start singing before my alarm goes off? When the sun hangs around past 6 p.m.? When the peepers kick up their tiny, electric chorus?

Magic.

Peepers might be one of my favorite sounds in the entire world. They feel like a promise. Like the earth clearing its throat and saying, “Okay. Let’s try again.”

Spring is where it’s at for me.

I’m writing this from our screened sun porch. It’s 75 degrees. Our clover lawn is growing in thick and green. Birds and squirrels are running the soundtrack. After the month we’ve had, I’m not taking one second of it for granted.

📖 On My Nightstand

Absolutely nothing. Let’s be honest — it is March 1, and I am just now sending the February edition of Trail Mix.

Liam had COVID. I was sick for a week with something else. Then he had a kidney stone that required surgery (I’m good if I don’t see the inside of a hospital again for a long while, thank you very much). Oh — and our one shared vehicle was totaled. Everyone is fine. The hybrid is not.

So no, I have not been cozied up with a novel.

And that makes sitting here in this warm air feel even sweeter. Sometimes the reading season pauses. Sometimes survival season takes over. And sometimes that’s okay.

🌿 On My Mind

AI. I am not an “AI is good” person. I am not an “AI is bad” person. I am a “be smart about AI” person.

Here’s the tension: AI can be incredibly harmful to the environment. The energy demands of large data centers are massive. Water use for cooling systems is significant. This isn’t abstract — it’s measurable.

And yet.

AI is also helping scientists track illegal deforestation in real time. It’s identifying endangered species through camera trap footage faster than any human team could. It’s helping model climate patterns and predict extreme weather. It’s optimizing energy grids and improving precision agriculture to reduce waste.

It’s a tool. A powerful one.

But trends that use AI “just for fun” can quietly normalize the environmental cost behind them. When something harmless-feeling scales to millions of users overnight, it stops being harmless.

Curiosity is good. Innovation is good. Mindless scale? Not so much.

🥾 On the Ground

We’re letting the grass grow. The leaf blower is parked. The mower is on hold. Early spring is critical for pollinators and overwintering insects. Fireflies, native bees, butterflies — they’re still tucked into leaf litter and stems.

So we’re choosing messy. And honestly? The yard feels more alive for it.

🕯 Inside the Tent

Inside the tent is… inside the house.

Liam’s kidney surgery happened just before Valentine’s Day. We had hoped to camp. Instead, it was a washout weekend — medically and meteorologically.

So he cleared the living room. Popped up our easy tent. Hauled in the mattress. Lit the fireplace. We camped inside. And it was oddly perfect.

Once you zip a tent closed — even in your own living room — something shifts. The laundry disappears. The dishes disappear. The to-do list quiets down.

It felt like a reset button.

I loved it so much that I finally started a project I’ve been talking about for over a year: a camping room inside the house.

Out went the guest bed frame. In went a sweet little indoor tent. We’re building a whole theme around it. We already have the gear. Liam’s sketching mural ideas. It’s becoming this cozy, slightly ridiculous, totally restorative space.

Also — when we have grandkids (no rush, kids), how fun would it be to have a camp room waiting for them?

Of course, I’ll share photos when it’s done. Right now, it’s half magic, half construction zone.

Which feels fitting for this season of life.

🐾 Tracks in the Mud

March 3 is World Wildlife Day.

I am all for experiences that bring people closer to wildlife — as long as they’re safe and ethical. I’ve learned the hard way that not every animal encounter is what it seems. It’s easy to get swept up in a moment, especially when something looks magical or once-in-a-lifetime.

But if the experience centers on our thrill over the animal’s well-being? That’s a pause.

The older I get, the more I believe connection matters — but so does context.

We can love wildlife without loving it to death.

🎒 Packing Out

I have never been particularly good at receiving help.

I’m the person who borrows a dollar for a vending machine and feels morally obligated to repay it immediately with interest.

Independence is my comfort zone.

But this month — honestly, this past year — has pushed me to admit when I’m at my limit. When I need help. When I need a break. When I need someone else to step in.

I am inching toward being better at that.

Two people, beyond my steadfast Liam,  have made it easier.

My best friend Lorrie — who is as type A and fiercely independent as I am — somehow knows when I’m unraveling, even from Maine. In the middle of all this, she simply texted, “My ringer is on.”

No pressure. No fixing. No schedule to coordinate. Just: I’m here. I won’t miss your call.

And my mom. I turn 50 this year, and yes, I still lean on my mom. A lot. We’ve had our seasons — like any mother-daughter pair — but it always circles back to her being my champion.

Recently, she said she might have 20 good years left, if she’s lucky. I didn’t love hearing that. Twenty years go fast. (I’m a parent too, and every parent knows how quickly time truly does fly.) But watching her live like she knows time is precious? It’s something. She does yoga several times a week. She’s in a book club. She dances. Volunteers. Gardens for hours. Marches when she believes something matters.

She’s not shrinking. She’s expanding. She’s smiling. (Watching her makes me want to be her when I grow up.)

And even though she is living her best life, she knows that the season has been hard for me and is there whenever I need a home-cooked meal, a healing hug, or just to hear it will all be okay.

This month reminded me that strength isn’t just pushing through. Sometimes it’s zipping the tent closed in your living room. Letting the grass grow. Accepting the help. Listening for peepers.

And knowing spring always comes.