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I almost never write about products I buy, but today is a very sad day.
I have owned my Crazy Camp chair for over 25 years? Maybe 30 years? How many hundreds, probably thousands of thousands, of miles has this chair traveled on my back?
How many hours spent on a boulder on a ridge top watching birds and butterflies and sunsets? Or on a grassy ridge, listening to meadowlarks and wind blowing through a lone pine tree? Or by one of several mountain streams or lakes, reading a good book, or writing in one of my hiking journals, in this happy chair? How many words, poems or haikus have happened while leaning back in happy comfort, just observing the spaces? Just writing this invokes specific memories to times and locations, and one of the reasons that I have enjoyed lingering in all of these places is because of my Crazy Creek chair.
Actually, these days, how many outdoor items do we really, really receive so much value from? But, much like my hairline, all good things must pass, I guess, not that my hairline was ever that good, but my Crazy Creek chair was very, very good!
I probably won’t throw this away. Can’t. Maybe on my last day this can be added to my funeral pyre? That probably won’t be very environmentally friendly, though.
So, from 30 years in the past, until this week, thank you to whomever constructed this chair. They did a hell of a job, and if chairs could talk there would be stories rushing water, spawning salmon, mountain breezes, drifting birdsong and butterflies and poetry sung to the winds.
"I pledge allegiance to the soil
of turtle island
under the sun -
with joyful interpenetration for all."
Frank in Oregon