GETTING back to nature conjures different meanings for all of us. For one of my uncles, it means roaming his backyard in the nudder.
He lives on an acreage. Thankfully.
I tend to prefer a clothed option, namely camping. The main reason I love camping is the unpredictability.
I know each time I pack the car, there is an adventure in the making. Most often meaning I have forgotten something.
Last time, it was the pillows. Not such a big deal, unlike the occasion I forgot the tent poles.
Or ice for the esky. Or the time I forgot the pegs for the tent.
On a calm and peaceful day, tent pegs are an unnecessary luxury.
But in the north-west corner of Western Australia in a pocket of the outback named the Pilbara, it's not a good idea to forget pegs with an incoming low pressure system.
A category 2 cyclone is not the place to be while camping minus pegs.
But nevertheless, I remain a die-hard camper because of everything that can and does go wrong.
As I begin packing the car this weekend for a getaway to Five Rocks, I'm wondering how nature will make a fool of me.
There's nothing quite as comforting as knowing that you are at the liberty of the outdoors.
I will never be able to erase the memory of four, fully-grown males squealing at the sight of a millipede.
Millipedes are not known to be human friendly, granted.
But the dance of the male petrified of a critter no bigger than his thumb was truly something special.
Anyone who has ever been camping can share a similar tale. And next week, I'm hoping to share my latest mishap with you all.