Going back to being blind as a bat. . . it connects to my feelings about camping. When I was young, camping meant dirt in my eyes (and if you have contacts, you know how this goes). It meant going to sleep cold and waking up hot (and blind). It meant having to pee on a tree (while finding my way through the dark). But somehow as I've gotten older, I've always romanticized the idea of camping. The s'mores! The wool blankets! The trek through the forest with a sweet little lantern! And while no true camper dislikes the dirt and the work of roughing it in the woods, for the rest of us there is the Far Meadow log cabin, a bucolic hideaway complete with the comforts of home—a French press, bicycles, running water–all under a classic tin roof in the heart of the Sierra National Forest. You can call me a wimp, but this is my kind of getting in touch with nature.