I have a green tent that I have loved for many years. From MEC, ultralightweight, space for three people, and packs down small enough to carry on your back. I’ve backcountry camped at Kejimkujik, and Gros Morne National Parks, I’ve lived it for weeks at meditation retreats and pitched it in back yards of family on Vancouver Island, Cape Breton Island, Thetis Island, and even Newfoundland Island.

There is something special about a tent– my tent. I carefully fold and pack it after each use being sure to unpack and clean it when necessary and also reassemble at home before the first trek of the season.

I pitch my MEC Volt 3 A/C on our Victoria back deck — it just barely fit. I was ecstatic when the tent, fully erect, was just as I remembered and able to sleep myself, my husband, and our baby! I couldn’t wait to tell Pete — this is going to work!

Alas, a few hours later I took out the tent fly and threw it over the body of the tent only to realize the tent windows had delaminated and were missing! I had lent my tent to a friend who slept a little too close to the fire. Pete put his arms around my shoulders and said, “It’s okay, this one is tired. It’s time to let it go.”

I took pictures of the tent (below) and posted the offering on the local buy and sell. I was debating the price with Pete when he said, “Tell them if they write a haiku they get a discount.” It was all in good fun but I added that as the last line of the ad.

A fellow named Mitch responded quickly to the ad (as well as others) and I have a dear friend name Mitch and seeing the name sparked good memories. I told him he could pick up the tent. He was a bit slow to reply but soon enough he sent along this message:

My daughter’s Haiku…
Fuzzy sleeping socks
Swimming, beaches, fires and smores
Fresh cool morning air

At 3:15pm the buzzer rings, “Is this Sarah? It’s Mitch for the tent”.
Pete says, “I’ll go down.” Juno is sleeping so I stay with the baby.

Pete returns with the biggest smile on his face. He said he met Mitch and his daughter of about eleven years, dressed in a simple sun dress. Mitch was in his forties and wearing a worn straw hat. Mitch asks questions about the missing tent windows. Pete answers vaguely and focuses on the little girly shyly hiding behind her dad. “Did you write the haiku?” Pete asks. “Yes,” a gentle whimper. “Well, great poem,” Pete says, “the tent is yours!”.

He places the green packed tent directly into Mitch’s hands. The girl’s eye light up and her dad’s smile is ear to ear. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”. Mitch throws his hand forward with gratitude completely forgetting the past five months of covid-non-contact. He realizes his mistake, he pulls his hand back and shares a tight hug with his daughter.

My husband returns home with the biggest smile on his face and in turn put one on mine.

A long loved green tent
One poem is local tender
A girl and her dad