Field Note 001: The Camp Begins

Every camp begins the same way: someone stops walking, looks around, and decides that here — for now — is a reasonable place to exist.

This is that moment, except the ground is the internet and the tent is a website, which means the weather is different but the gesture is the same. A stake in the ground. A kettle on. A folding chair unfolded with the small ceremony that folding chairs deserve.

Camp Flaneuse is a record of a life being rebuilt on the road — a motorhome named Ember, a few cats with strong opinions about door policy, notebooks that multiply when unsupervised, and an ongoing attempt to trade speed for attention.

There is no grand plan. There is a direction, which is better. The plan, such as it is:

• keep moving, slowly
• keep noticing things
• write the things down
• draw some of them
• send letters
• refuse, politely but permanently, the idea that a life must be optimized to count

Some notes will be about birds. Some will be about parking lots. A surprising number will probably be about both, because birds do not respect the difference and neither, anymore, do I.

If you have found this place: welcome. The camp is small, but it intends to stay lit.