WHO'S NOT OF CAMPING? -Segment 4 (Scroll down for earlier segments)


     For our next foray into outdoor living, we decided to stay inside. 

     Camping in a tent had humbled us.  “Maybe we’ll fare better if we camp in our van,” I said.

     “I agree,” said our daughter.  “Hopefully, it won’t collapse on us.”

     So we loaded up the van and headed for the mountains, once again, trying to get our names written in the Who’s Who of Camping.

     Since we were in our van and not headlining the entertainment for the evening, we were able to arrive in the late afternoon.  Our later arrival meant we got the last camp site.  We all agreed this was far better than having to sleep in someone’s driveway.

     “Look!” yelled the kids.  “We’re right on the lake!” 

     Closer inspection revealed a small pond of stagnant water that smelled like a large cesspool.    

     Not too far away, we noticed some empty buildings.  “Must have been the Waste Treatment Plant that’s quit giving treatments,” said Connie.

     “Prime mosquito breeding grounds,” I opined.

     “That’s good,” Connie said. “They’ll probably be too busy to get over here.”

     They obviously overheard her and rushed over immediately.  Then they signaled to their friends…”Hey, over here…campsite 17…four people…two children and two adults…adults can feed family of two thousand…children, maybe a thousand.”

     While our culinary institute was dining on marshmallows on a stick, the mosquitoes were feasting on us.  They apparently thought it was a buffet because they kept coming back for seconds and thirds.

     Having your blood supply reduced to critically low levels by mosquitoes who think they’re partaking of the Fountain of Youth is distressing enough, but watching them carry on in such a disorderly and unseemly manner was revolting.  

     We let them sample about twelve different repellents.  They loved all of them.  Just before they had sucked the remaining life out of us, we stumbled into the van and passed out. 

     The next morning, we decided it would be best if we chose an activity away from the water and mosquitoes.

     “Let’s go for a hike,” I said.

     “Don’t we need to carry bear bells?” asked my wife.

     “Yes!” I answered emphatically.

     Once all of us had our bells, we began hiking along a nearby trail.

     After walking a short distance, I heard our daughter.  “Why do we need these bells?” she asked.  “Is it to scare the bears or to let them know lunch is ready?”

     “It’s to let them know that we’re in the area,” I answered.

     “Why do they need to know?” questioned Mindy.  “Are they expecting us?  They should let us know when they’re in the area.”

     “Just stay on the trail, and we’ll be fine,” I said.

     “Do I just keep following these paw prints?” she asked.

     “We’ve probably followed them far enough,” I answered.  “Let’s head back to camp.”

     That afternoon our son occupied his time by testing the fast-moving water of a nearby stream.  Not liking the gravel on his bare feet, he decided his sister’s sandals would work just fine.

     I watched as he edged into the water.  After a bit, he thought he’d gone far enough, and started to back away. Unfortunately, he backed away with only one sandal.  Carrying a cup of hot coffee, I chased the other sandal downstream.  As it disappeared around the bend, on its way to the ocean, I was left holding an empty cup with a burnt hand.    

     I learned two good lessons from that experience; don’t run with hot coffee, and always write your address on your children’s shoes when they’re playing around streams.  Had I done that, we might have received a surprise Christmas present in the mail; a sandal that had washed ashore in Japan.   

     By early evening, we were all getting hungry.  I suggested building a nice campfire and frying some fish, but we had no fish, and my wife didn’t trust my campfires.  We looked for the marshmallows, but they had disappeared in the Great Mosquito Invasion.  “Okay, it looks as though we’ll have to forage for some edible plants and insects,” I said.   

     “We’ll need something to go with our insect dish,” said my wife, her voice dripping with such sarcasm, that it was running down the front of her sweatshirt.  “Maybe we can go into town and forage for some pizza?”

     “That’s not roughing it in the wild outdoors,” I answered.

     “Well, I’m not going to sit out here in the wild outdoors, eating my insects and chewing on a piece of bark,” she announced to everyone within hearing distance.      

    “Okay, okay,” I said, peeking out from behind a tree. 

     It wasn’t long before we were all foraging on pizza at a local eatery.  The edible insect topping was especially tasty.  After returning to our campsite, I thought I would light the lantern and relax with a good book.  

 

 

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WHO'S NOT OF CAMPING? - Segment 3 (Scroll down for earlier segments)

     My first opportunity to demonstrate my tent-raising skills came in the Colorado Rockies.  We arrived at our destination by mid-afternoon so I could have the tent up by nightfall.  After pulling it off the car roof, I rolled it out on what could have been mistaken for a rock quarry.

     As I started to assemble the tent, a crowd began to gather, apparently hoping for a How-to lesson in raising a canvas tent the size of a small apartment.  In a matter of minutes, their demeanor went from curious to rolling-on-the-ground, belly laughs.

     “This is embarrassing,” said my wife.  “Why couldn’t we have found some place where there were no people?”

     “Who would hear our screams if this thing went down?” I answered.  “We could be trapped under this canvas with no way out.”

     Stepping around those who continued to roll on the ground, I finally completed the tent-raising, sometime after dark.  Proud that I had completed my project, I wanted to hand out memorial tent pegs, but everyone was sound asleep. 

     As we prepared for bed, my wife asked, “Where is Justin’s bedding?”

     I checked the car, and, sure enough, it was home.

     “He’s a year old; he can sleep with us,” I said. 

     So off to sleep we went, until the middle of the night.  The thunder woke us up.  Soon, torrential rains were pounding the roof as lightning danced across the sky.  Fierce winds buffeted the tent.  I was thankful I had taken time, several hours, to raise a tent that would withstand a storm.   It was just about then that everything started to shift.  I had prepared it for the wrong storm.

     As the tent was shifting, Justin was leaving the sleeping bag, in an escape attempt.  Whisking him back in, we felt the tent collapsing upon us.

     Knowing it would be futile to try and raise the tent again in the thunderstorm, we remained where we were until daybreak, when rescuers came and pulled us from the collapsed canvas.

     “Being close to people didn’t matter,” Connie said. “They still didn’t hear our screams.”

     “They were worn out from laughter,” I answered.

 

     “Well, I’m worn out from camping,” she responded, rather convincingly.

     So we rested from camping for a brief time, probably three to four years.  By that time, the memories of our past experience were dimming, so we attempted another round of “Camping World.”

 

 

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WHO'S NOT OF CAMPING - Segment 2 (Scroll down for opening segment)


     Before the “Tent Wars,” our vacations often meant traveling to Nebraska to visit my wife’s parents.  Along the way, we would stop and visit friends, at least those who would let us stay.  After they quit answering our knocks at their door and turned a deaf ear to our whimpering, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands.  We would try camping.  Connie said she was glad I took that matter into my hands because she didn’t want the blood of camping on her hands. 

     Being the All-American family that we were, I felt we needed to enjoy a part of our vacation each year in the great outdoors.  I could even see our names emblazoned into the “Who’s Who of Camping.”

     “But Dad,” my kids pleaded, “what about others enjoying the great outdoors; like mosquitoes, snakes, and BEARS!”

     Connie may have sided with the kids but, fortunately, her amnesia from child rearing erased all memories of past camping experiences.

     Apparently feeling sorry for the kids and thinking the four of us would have to sleep in a pup tent, my mother bought us a large family tent.  I told her we would never have a family that large, but she said we would appreciate the space.  It was a heavy canvas tent, made to last.  The question was whether I would last, trying to raise it. 

     Arriving home, we laid out the tent in the backyard.   “I don’t think we can put this up without a building permit,” I said.  My mother took one look at the tent and immediately sought refuge in the house.  My wife could sense trouble brewing, so she stayed inside and left the tent and me alone, to work out our differences. 

     There was relative calm until I began to hoist the tent into an upright position.  That’s when everything began to deteriorate.  It wasn’t long before the neighbors heard a strange noise and looked outside, only to see a large tent thrashing about on the ground.  By the time they arrived, the tent was barely moving, collapsed around me like it was guarding its kill.  I was still alive, but reduced to a weakened state; suffering from heat exhaustion, and hoarse from begging the canvas monster to spare my life.   

     With their help, I managed to erect the monster.  I wished they could have gone camping with us. 

    
     My first opportunity to demonstrate my tent-raising skills came in the Colorado Rockies... 


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