Family Camping

Going camping was one of those things that neither Wesley nor I ever did as a child, but always thought would be fun. So over a decade ago, when we discovered that one of our friends was an avid backpacker-camper, we decided to give it a try. Bob suggested things for us to buy, and sent us email after email of information and advice. Since his passion was backpacking, our goal mirrored his—to pack as lightly and efficiently as possible, giving up many comforts along the way, all in the name of reduced overall pack weight we could tote on our backs. Although our initial attempts were laughable, we loved not only the challenge of it, but simply the forced relaxation of being outside, in the middle of nowhere, with no distractions but the ones we created.

But then came the small explosion that we call our family, and lightweight backpacking excursions quickly gave way to the much different animal called Family or Car Camping. Now every year in May, we load up the brood and head to Devil’s Den for a weekend of fun. (Watch my eyelid twitch as I say that word again—FUN!) Instead of lightweight sacks packed with bare essentials, we take a truck full of necessities—Dora, Princess and Spiderman sleeping bags, pillows and blankets, a plastic box full of chips, crackers and cookies, an ice chest full of Capri Suns and cokes, bags full of books and toys, and this year, portable DVD players and DS games. This ain’t your friend Bob’s backpacking anymore, kiddos!

Friday afternoon: pack up the truck and travel. How far is it? She’s not sharing! Make him get off of me! Are we there yet? And my thoughts, a dismal echo, Is it Sunday, yet?

Friday evening: arrive and unpack. Can I help? When are we going swimming? It’s hot. I want to get in the tent! What’s for supper? I groan. The same thing that’s always for supper, or you guys would mutiny. Weenies with ketchup. Boxed white-cheese shell pasta. Hawaiian rolls with a whole stick of butter. And later, smores. Mmmm, smores.

Saturday early morning: get up way too early, with sore hips and dirty hair, and cook breakfast. I need to go to the bathroom. When are we going swimming? It’s hot. What’s for breakfast? Flash a forced grin. Bacon, sausage links, scrambled eggs and French toast. Oh, and honey? A raccoon got into the back of your truck, opened the ice chest, and ran away with the cooked hamburger meat I was going to use in our spaghetti sauce for supper. Ah, doesn’t get any better than this!

Saturday late morning: put on tennis shoes, grab a backpack stuffed full of water and snacks, go potty one more time, and head to the hiking trail. I’ve got my walking stick. No, that’s MY walking stick! I WANT A WALKING STICK TOO! When are we going swimming? It’s hot. Grab the camera. Good thing you are the one taking the pictures because the forced smile is losing the battle.

Saturday noon: trudge back to camp, hot and tired and cranky, and eat lunch. I’m hungry. Hey I had the squeeze cheese first! When are we going swimming? I’m hot. Big sigh. Honey, the raccoon got the summer sausage and the grapes, too…

Saturday afternoon: settle everybody down for either a nap or some quiet time. There’s a bug! It’s hot. How long is Daddy going to sleep? When are we going swimming? I’m hot. Ignore. Halfway done!

Saturday late afternoon: put on the bathing suits, grab the water shoes, and head to the creek. It’s time to go swimming!

Two minutes later: It’s cold! Daddy, hold me!

Saturday evening: The spaghetti is a hit, even without the meat. I discovered that Lauren will actually eat spaghetti if I just give her the naked noodles (with half a stick of butter melted on them). Everyone is tired and very dirty, but the trip has been a success. We go to the area playground and Wes is good enough to let me pretty much ignore everyone around me and read my book while he pushes on the swings and referees on the seesaws and watches on the slides. We go back to our campsite, have more smores, and after the kids have retreated to the tents to watch their respective movies, we sit outside in the dark in our folding chairs and stare at the overhead lantern. There are a few moments of quiet reflection before we hear the zip of our tent and Hannah comes out. I want a drink of cold water. I want a chair, too! I don’t want to watch Tom and Jerry, I want Veggie Tales at my house! Where’s my white fuzzy puppy?

I miss those early days with grand ideals of backpacking out in the silent wilderness. But Family Camping is a joy and challenge that in some ways far surpasses my dream of someday taking a week-long (or longer) guided hiking excursion (sans kids). It is a once-a-year reality. Something to be dreaded and anticipated all at the same time. The stuff memories are made of. And one day, I’ll look back on these precious days, and laugh. One day. Right?