Have I posted about camping before? Possibly; it's on my mind a surprising amount. So, if I have, and if you've already read about it, I'm sorry. This might be more of the same. (But then, it might be entirely different! Who knows!)
When I was a kid, my family would go camping all the time. At least two times a year. Wow, okay, maybe that's not all the time. But still, it was a big part of my life growing up, and I always looked forward to it. We did what I refer to as "real camping." We didn't pay to stay in a managed campground. Excepting the last few years, we didn't bring a camper. We mostly cooked over the camp fire. The first few things we did on arriving at the campsite was mow the grass and dig a latrine. (Well, the first few thing my dad and brothers did. I jumped in the river!)
I miss those lazy weekends on the river, where the only worry was cottonmouths. (Hmm.. That's kind of a big worry, now that I think of it.) I miss spending the day trekking from camp, to the river, back to camp, back to the river. I miss the cheap soda we bought to bring along. I miss the frustration of putting up a tent with it's stupid bendy poles that never seem quite bendy or quite long enough. I miss the early mornings and watching steam rise off the river and the fish jumping for bugs.
I've finally decided that I am going to go camping again. Camden is old enough to truly enjoy it, I think. I'm finally brave enough to try doing it on my own. (Probably the biggest thing that has been holding me back.) I know that I'm not, and Camden's not, going to have the same experience. And that's okay. It's not about recreating my childhood, right? It's about forging ahead and creating our own traditions.
Now I just need a tent! Oh, and it needs to be summer.
