Circling back to last night at Camp Manassas ...
A saber and a cotton shirt hung from the wood pole at the front of my tent; a bale of hay served as my sofa.
The comforter and pillows weren’t authentic and I suppose I should have slept on straw and a tarp, but the reenactors made an exception. (There wasn’t all that much hay around anyway.)
About 30 feet away from me were five horses tied to a picket line. My tent smelled strongly of petting zoo. Having sweated all day and not showered it was about to get a whiff of locker room.
After a long day. I finally got to remove my boots, which were wooden and uncomfortable. I peeled from my vest and ignored the wet T-shirt that was my closest thing to air conditioning. I heard the horses munching on hay.
I fell asleep listening to them and clattering sabers as reenactors arrived for the night.
Then in the middle of the night I jumped awake. Something out of my tent startled me. It was a whinnying horse. That’s one alarm clock this city slicker has never had before.