For a week following the winter semester I lived in a tent in Beaver Dick Park, a camp ground maintained by the Bureau of Land Management about ten minutes outside of Rexburg. I pictured a period of self-induced isolation, a chance to simplify and soul search, a vision quest. School was over and my only obligation was work. I would start each day by breaking camp. Roll up my sleeping bag. Fold up the tent, put the thermals I slept in and books I was reading in a pillow case. Load it all into the trunk. Drive east to work wearing sunglasses. I change my shirt in the parking lot of EZ-net tools and brush my teeth in the bathroom before I clock-in. After work I spend about four hours on campus on other projects. Drive back to the park. Find a camp site and pitch the tent in the dark. Read. Sleep.

It wasn't the vision quest I had hoped for. Too much to do, too many friends, too much civilization, not enough discipline. Whatever the reason, it wasn't.

It was good though, anyway, to get out and live in that manner where preparation equals comfort, and decisions have significant, timely consequences. The custodial elements of life require careful attention. Living, being alive in the physical sense, can be a craft, an art. Like preparing a meal can be. It feels good to foresee a problem and solve it. To be independent. Like a person who can save his own life.