Camping

We are still living in a bit of chaos around here with the visit of my daughter and son in law. My son is still camped out in the family room regardless of the fact that Erin and Jerry have been down in South Carolina for the last few days and are not due to come back this way until Tuesday. He would rather not have to go through the prep of the room once more and I think rather likes the martyr status for the moment hoping to milk it for everything he can get. His laziness extends out into how he makes his futon as well. We have sheets and blankets for him but he would rather unroll his sleeping bag. The early bachelor year behaviors are imprinted into male DNA of this I am sure. He also buys himself half gallons of sweet tea that he chugs right from the container. I’m not sure why he does this for it isn’t like he is the one doing the dishes. Perhaps I weaned him too early. Thank goodness his potty training went easy or who knows what other habits might have manifested.

But I digress. The whole reason I brought this up was as I was picking up the family room and stumbled across his wadded up sleeping bag in the corner (his version of making his bed) it brought to mind just how much I miss camping. This was an activity we would venture out to do every opportunity we had. In fact Kelsey was 2 weeks old when she experienced her first camping trip. My husband was in awe of his mountain girl wife who, while he was at work, managed to rustle up the four kids, get them to a campsite, set up our enormous tent and camp site all while chasing toddlers, directing a 10 year old and her attention span of a gnat and having a newborn attached to my breast AND had dinner cooking on the fire by the time he arrived after his work day. Dang, all these years later I am rather impressed with myself. Where did that girl with the energy and stamina go? Maybe there were hidden superhero powers in lactating.

Not all of our camping was done in a tent. There were our week long vacations in rented cabins. We are talking the no-frills variety. Not your half million dollar, luxury spots you find in the Poconos or Lake Tahoe. We are talking more like the little squat places next to Lake Where Have You Gone that may or may not have indoor plumbing. I LOVE those places. I used to daydream these were the places we would retire to. So small that you are forced to only have the absolute necessities with you and I found complete contentment in that. It is still my dream.

I love waking up to the sounds of loons on the lake, to sit and sip my morning coffee while hummingbirds flit about lapping up nectar and the peaceful feeling that washes over me when I see a doe and her fawn delicately approach the water’s edge to dip down and take a drink. I recall the misty morning when I spotted an eagle swoop down and catch its breakfast while my son and his father sat in the boat in the middle of the lake attempting to catch our evening meal. There is another memory of the time the kids took two of the paddle boats out and it wasn’t until they were already committed to the lake that my son and eldest daughter discovered their paddle boat was broke and all they could manage were very tight circles. The rest of us were no help for we were doubled in half laughing while their frustrations could be heard halfway around the lake.

Then there was the weekend get-away Bob and I took to a state park. This cabin was one of those with limited indoor plumbing. We had a kitchen sink to get water from but we had to haul the water out and as you may have guessed the potty was a short walk from the cabin. LOVED this place. We laugh about this particular trip often because of the neighbors we acquired. While he and I sat upon the picnic table (why is it one tends to plant their tush on the table instead of the bench) watching our campfire….a requirement to any camp trip is the hypnotizing stare into the flames that has you spilling out all sorts of tales about your life….when the neighbors arrived. To our right were the brothers. We were later to learn they were business partners who needed a vacation from the stress of their rigid existence. To our left, a couple near our age but who were apparently new in their relationship. It was very apparent the gentleman wanted to impress his lady love. First thing he did on this warm September day was try to create a mood by making a fire in the quaint woodstove that was in every cabin. Apparently he did not realize that these little cast-iron wonders throw off an amazing amount of heat…thus the reason they were made. He must have thought they were purely an ambiance and mood builder and he was hoping for an entirely different kind of heat. Not 15 minutes after we first spotted the smoke curling from the chimney did the windows to the cabin start flying open and first she and then he came running out onto their porch dripping in sweat. She looked less than amused and he looked a wee bit discouraged.

In the meantime the neighbors to the right are building their perfect fire. In fact they called it that….a perfect fire. They, in their quest to get away from their rigid lifestyle, spent a great deal of time sorting through and picking just the right pieces of wood to place in their fire pit. Each had to have the same length and relative circumference. They then began to make a Lincoln log fashioned tower of these perfect sticks before they ever so carefully laid match to this pyre of perfection. Then they stood back, each with martini in hand, and enthusiastically and victoriously commented on their perfect fire. They then would retreat to the cabin, for they couldn’t handle the smoke, and would only emerge when they saw the symmetry of their fire was in jeopardy and would place new pieces of wood to it regaining its perfection status again…stating that.. and then retreat again. This went like this all evening. Bob and I just sat atop our table, sipping our beverages and smiling.

Well now the gentleman to our left is hoping to redeem himself of his first misjudgment and decides to make yet another attempt with fire. Yep, the fire pit was now calling to him. Whereas our neighbors to the right were perfectionists in their pyro undertakings…neighbor to the left was not as concerned. We are guessing his career trade has something to do with construction work because from the back of his truck he proceeded to bring out armloads of various end pieces of lumber. He would walk over to the pit and just drop the entire contents of his arms into the pit and then run back for more. He did this until the pile was about half as tall as him. Bob and I just looked at each other trying to contain our laughter. We were quite content and entertained sitting on our table watching this all unfold. It wasn’t until gentleman on the left emptied half a can of lighter fluid onto his tower of lumber and was about to strike a match that Bob and I decided to maybe place a bit more distance between ourselves and our neighbor but not too far that we couldn’t watch. When that match hit that pile it was like a solar flare had gone off. We are talking nuclear. We are still trying to remember if gentleman on the left had eyebrows when he first arrived.

Neighbor to the left never did acquire a twinkle to the eye before weekends end and neighbor to the right still looked quite stressed. We are thinking if the two neighbors had perhaps shared fire techniques and met somewhere in the middle they all would have been better for it. Bob and I? Well we had a perfect weekend. Can’t wait to do it again.