I remember back when I was a kid (some would argue that speaking in the historical tense is an oxymoron), camping. I'd like to say they were what shaped my love of camping that I now have. Why are you smiling? You think you know where this is going?
You see, when I was growing up, we used to camp once a summer for a week or so. And when I say camp it wasn't sissy camping. We'd sign a will, and head into the wilderness, leaving a trail of bread crumbs. Let me be the first to tell you it's extremely hard to follow the trail back when it has been left on a lake. doesn't work...when you are canoeing. No one would hear from us the entire time. That's because we were hours and hours from the nearest town. Then there was the little fact that cell phones were non-existent. At least to us.
But weeks before we could even get to the point where we feared for our lives, my dad would hand out chores to my 3 siblings and I, to make sure all our gear and supplies were accounted for. Wait a minute, let me think...I actually don't know if he handed out those chores to us, but in either case, it makes for a good story, so I run with it. Anyhow, I do know that getting 2 or 3 tents out, sleeping bags, tarps, canoes, paddles, hatchets, lanterns, toilet paper, potatoes and just about anything else a person would need for disappearing from the face of the planet, took a long time to get ready.
My dad would then carefully pack the mountains of gear into his old Ford pickup, strap it down along with the canoes and off we'd go. And go. And go. Can I just tell you how long the last 3 hours are bouncing over dirt logging roads? Add to that the dust kicked up by the loggers barreling by, and now you are painting a perfect picture of misery.
Then, once out on the lakes, we would paddle until we were spent, (sometimes 127 miles a day!) before Dad would mercifully and cheerfully exclaim "oh, look, here's our camp site!". Mind you, this after we had already passed by 38 other perfectly acceptable sites. We would have to summon up the last bit of energy left in us, empty the canoes, lug all the gear up to the campsite, and set camp up (sometimes slaving away until the early hours of the morning) before we could eat, sleep or go swimming.
In the evening, we'd build a fire, making sure it was smokey as possible, not so much as to suffocate us, but rather to futilely ward off the black flies, or as I affectionately call them, vultures. Not that the fire would help much when it rained, which it seemed to frequently enough. On those occasions, we would huddle 15 feet away from the fire under the tarp and pretend we were having a wonderful time, all the while shivering.
Upon waking in the morning, Dad would announce that it was a fine day to set off down the lake. After breakfast we would disassemble camp, you know the one we just set up the night before? That one. We would then pack all the gear back into the canoes and with aching muscles, start out on the next 142 mile leg. Why we couldn't stay at the same site for another day or two was never explained. It remains a mystery.
Finally, we'd come about and make the grueling 3 hours back over those horrendous roads, and then on back home, where we would have to unpack all the gear and stow it away for the next year.
Where's the circle? Ahhhh...glad you asked! The kid grew up, (poetic!) and quit camping. No circle yet. Well, "quit" is so definite. Maybe more like postponed until such time as it could be done to my liking. Which I finally discovered with the Casita.
And along with the Casita came the preparation of all the camping equipment. I thought about assigning chores to my kids, but then, I figured it was best handled by me. And then, once I got all the gear together; lanterns, toilet paper, potatoes and just about anything else a person would need for disappearing from the face of the planet, I'd pack up all the equipment into the vehicle. I would take great pains to make sure each item was loaded with the most efficient use of space. The family would then climb into the vehicle and we'd head out on the 3 hour drive to the campground.
Upon arrival at the campground, I'd cheerfully announce "we're here!" to the cheers of our kids. Then they'd ask "can we go swimming now?" To which I would reply "when we get the Casita set up". To a chorus of groans.
In the evening, we'd sit around the campfire, roasting marshmallows unless it rained and then we'd sit in the Casita, away from the elements. Maybe play a game of cards. And pretend we enjoyed being a bit cooped up.
The next morning, I'd get up and pronounce that we would need to leave the campground in 2 hours, so we'd have to get packed up and ready to leave.
We'd drive the 3 hours back home, where we would have to unpack and disassemble all our gear and stow it away for the next adventure.
Full circle.
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