I have always wanted to be a camper. (Not a literal camper, but one who camps!) Perhaps it was the imagination I had when friends talked about overnights with Girl Scouts that sounded so luxurious. I also loved Laura Ingalls Wilder books, and her life on the prairie seemed a lot like camping to me. I dreamed my destiny was to be a camper!
My first campout was in high school. Friends and I planned to go over Memorial Day weekend. We packed the bed of my green Ford pick-up truck with tents and a cooler and spent a couple of “all nighters” at Potawatomi “Pot” Park. I wonder what our parents thought was really in our cooler.
I camped once as a young adult. We had a lot of laughs with our large group, but the bugs, the rain, and lack of toilet facilities put a damper on things. Did I mention rain? What about damp? As much as I dreamed of camping, it didn’t work well for me. I could go a day or two without a shower, but sleeplessness was grueling.
Some years later, my husband and I tried camping one night when the kids were away. We found an ideal spot next to a swimmable lake and prepared delicious food for a memorable evening. I don’t recollect the meal; I remember all the work. I also recall how our dog cried and rustled around on high alert all night long. Not a wink of sleep. Miserable.
During COVID we hosted some of my daughter’s friends for the summer. As 4th of July weekend was approaching, we wanted to show them a good time. “We love camping!” they squealed with delight. I had not yet given up the family camping fantasy.
I yearned for some adventurous memories to cherish for years to come.
We agreed to go but decided to make planning simpler by borrowing a pop-up camper from a friend. Brilliant choice!
The night before departing, we filled the camper with our supplies and practiced setting it up. Then we heard a loud sound, “Bam!
“That was bad.” my husband murmured. “I think the crank busted.”
Gulp.
The girls were not deterred. “Let’s just tent camp!” they insisted. “It’s a blast.”
A people-pleasing part inside of me enthusiastically agreed, “Yes, let’s do it!” but immense trepidation showed up immediately. I began to question. “What will we cook on? A fire? How will I sleep? What about dirt and rain and…?”
Youthful optimism overruled. We squished ourselves and our gear into the car and headed out early the next morning. And we had a wonderful time. We swam, rode bike, ate well, and I even slept two of three nights. The sound of the crickets in the evening and waking up to sunrise was blissful. Card games and campfire stories filled my soul, and I had only one meltdown. Success!
We camped only once that summer, but my hope for future years of backpacking and canoe adventures and more car camping (new term I learned) soared. A legitimate camper was birthed. I zealously informed the family, “We need some gear!”
Christmas brought me my very own cot, and we added an exceptional cooler (that I could hardly lift) and several lanterns. As I began to organize our new supplies, I could hardly wait to get our first camping adventure on the calendar for 2021.
When July arrived, we had reservations at a popular spot that had the benefit of bathhouse facilities. We expectantly filled the car with gear and food. I was prepared with expert tips and recipes for our momentous weekend. It would definitely be memorable.
First night: freezing, rolling, turning, spinning.
Day 1: miserable.
Second night: burned food, mattress leak, rolling, turning, spinning, tent collapse.
Day 2: crabby.
Relief came that evening in knowing that we had chosen to stay at a place with showers! I fumbled through the disorder of my tent digging for my toiletries and hauled my pile to the bathhouse. There was a long line for the shower as only one was operable. Frustrated, I forged ahead to brush my teeth. The filthy sink had but a trickle of water. I looked at myself in the mirror and sighed in disappointment. I paused to assess my plight. Then came a forceful, once-and-for-all moment of reckoning. I uttered to myself, “I give up. I am not a camper.”
I gathered my things and sluggishly rambled back to my site as I reasoned, ‘I’m glad I tried, and I have some memories for sure. But sometimes I just want to be something I’m not. Next time, get a hotel.”
