It's that time again. This weekend will be our second outing to the Small Boat Messabout at Lake Monroe, Indiana. Last year we stayed in a 'kitche' motel. This year we are camping.
I have not camped in 20 years.
We camped a lot when I was a kid. We had a pop-up camper which gave us a place to play Crazy Eights when it rained. I loved walking in the woods, alone, daydreaming about all sorts of romantic adventures while listening to the Commodores on my Sony Twist. As I recall, the only job I had back then was gathering firewood. Which usually ended with me dragging half a tree into the campsite and being informed that it was too wet.
I still can't build a fire.
My husband - BART*- was one of those tent campers. The hardcore, no electricity, brush your teeth with water you squeezed from wet tree limbs sort of camper. This is our first attempt at camping as a couple:
|If this tent's a rockin' it's because it's about to collapse. Please call 911 or Hotels.com.|
If you haven't noticed, the tent is supported by rope over tree branches. Why would this be? Well, it seems we forgot the tent poles. We seemed to remember the rope. We had been married about three months.
It is a wonder we are still speaking.
Our last camping trip was with our children and our beagle. It was dark when we got to the campground. The kids wanted to sleep. The beagle wanted to smell everything within a five mile radius. The campground attendant wanted to run us out of town as – in the dark – we had set up camp in the CLOSED part of the campground. I don't know what his problem was. It wasn't as if he had to vacuum the dirt or rewash the bugs.
So, it is now 20 years later. My list of things to take is three full legal pad pages long, Front and Back. We have discussed the merits of air mattresses. I spent all of last weekend obsessing over what food we would take. I settled on cheese, salami, fruit and veggies for lunches, a hearty soup for dinner #1 and a hearty salsa and jerk chicken for our potluck contribution for dinner #2. I am on the culinary fence for breakfasts. Bart will want to be out in the boat ASAP both days. I will want to enjoy a nice cup of coffee and I will be sad if I get up on Sunday to the smells bacon and pancakes and all I get is a crappy granola bar and some withered up grapes.
As always, Bart was very helpful. He asked, "But don't you want to write a blog called Other People's Bacon?"
I asked him if he packed the tent poles.
Stay tuned for Camping – the sequel.
*BART – not his real name, is one of the many almost correct but not quite names my Grandpa called my husband whenever they were together. Names have been changed to protect...well, no one really.