I’ve Discovered Blogger’s Hell

My husband is a part-time photographer. He’s been taking photos for 25 years. It’s his creative outlet. Our home is littered with cameras, both functional and antique. What I love best about my husband’s hobby is that he will photograph anyone or anything because he enjoys his craft that much. He’ll take wedding photos, landscape and nature photos, senior class portraits, cityscapes, wildlife and pet photos, as well as commercial photos. His photos are as open minded and easy going as he is. Right now, the whole family is with him on a photo shoot at a wilderness ranch that is under new management and is revamping their marketing strategy.

We’re up in stunning and peaceful North Park, Colorado, on a 4500 acre parcel of land, staying in a beautiful log cabin with two master suites, satellite television, and a hot tub. It’s gorgeous. It’s restful. It’s private. That’s why people come here. They come for the horseback rides through aspen forests dotted with elk and moose. They come for trophy fishing in isolated, fully stocked trout ponds. They come to give their children a taste of nature while sleeping out in teepees under a sky so dark you can clearly see the spiral arms of the Milky Way galaxy. The ranch offers an old west stagecoach ride experience in the summer and cross-country skiing and snowshoeing opportunities in the winter. The wind through the pines whispers, “Relax,” while the yips of the coyotes encourage, “Let go.” It’s a step closer to heaven here.

I can think of only one person who could find flaw with this place. That person is an Internet blogger who realized with chagrin when she arrived that this idyllic place has neither phone service nor Wifi. That person nearly stroked out when she acknowledged she would have to tap out a 500+ word blog post on her iPhone and then drive 30 miles to tiny Walden, Colorado and pray she would either find 3G or a private, unsecured Wifi connection somewhere in town to publish on this cool, breezy Saturday. That person would be more disturbed by the idea of not publishing her 159th consecutive post than she would be by noticing the large, muddy bear paw print on the French door she when she arrived at the lodge. That person, of course, would be me.

It’s not that I can’t rough it. I can. I’ve backpacked and tent camped. I’ve gone days without running water, heat, and showers. I’ve gone to sleep on the hard, cold ground, damp and dirty, and slept soundly after hours of hiking only to awake with pine needles stuck to my face. Born with thick, dry hair, I can go days without a shower and still look mostly presentable. Unlike many women, I’ll neatly pee in the woods without complaint and be proud of it. Come to find out, though, that if you take my Internet away I become a big, thumb-sucking baby.

It’s only because I blog now that this lack of Wifi is tantamount to torture. If I gave up blogging, I could go back to roughing it. No problem. But for now I’m a writer, and this average person’s heaven is my blogger’s hell.


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