Manly Camping

My husband suggested at the last minute that we take a camping trip with our 2 darling toddlers this weekend, so we packed up and headed out to St. Augustine and a beautiful state park there. While I can't recommend camping with 2 toddlers, we had a pretty good time, although it didn't seem much like camping to me. Yes, we did have to walk to the bathrooms...far enough that I was discouraged from doing so in the night unless bladder explosion was a possibility. And yes, it did rain and we got to experience the joys of a leaking camper and soggy bedding, but something was missing. And each evening I realized exactly what it was as I smelled the intoxicating and ever so familiar scent of the campfire.

I have been camping a number of times in my life. As a girl scout there were weekend trips as well as overnight summer camp. As a family, we camped with some regularity, and even once took a family camping vacation. I must have been 7 or 8 because it was at a time when my parents would actually consider spending time in a car and a tent together and were enough on speaking terms to decide what to eat etc. I went camping in college with my brother his wife, her family and their many kids, and after college with what's-his-name. I even went camping for some of my honeymoon. My favorite part of camping, that which holds the most nostalgia for me, is the campfire. It's fun to watch the flames dance, leap and hear them crackle. Sometimes it's fun to cook things over it, or burn things in it. The smell seeps into your clothing and camping equipment. It fills your hair until your next shower. It lingers in the air into the wee hours of the morning and it alone says "we're camping" for me.

There has been but one other camping trip that lacked campfire, and it has to have been the most interesting camping adventure of my life. I never intended to camp that night, it just sort of happened. And I will never forget it as long as I live; it has become a bit of Koala legend.

I was dating this guy who I had a really good feeling about. And though we'd only been dating for about a month, an opportunity to meet his parents arose. Since they lived in Florida, and I in Rhode Island, we didn't think such an opportunity would present itself for some time in the future. As it happened, his sister was graduating from college in Western Massachusetts, a mere 2 hour drive from my place. His parents graciously extended an invitation for me to join them for a small lunch and then a larger dinner, but it was clear that it was only for those 2 events. I was not invited to do anything beyond that, and that was fine really. I was going to meet several family members that day, so that was enough excitement for me from a guy I'd known for a little over a month. And there were logistical issues. Housing all those people was complicated, so they'd all be staying in different places. His parents were just over the Connecticut line with distant relatives; his older sister, husband and new baby were in a camper at a camp ground. His Uncle was in some motel, his cousin and her fiance at a bed and breakfast, and he and his 14 year old cousin were to have a manly camping adventure in a tent at a nearby campground. It was to be the first camping trip for the young lad, and he was looking forward to the manliest of times, and even thought it should be defined by the 3 "f"s which were something like "fire, farting and forest".

Things were going well in the meetings. I made it through, all the way to dinner. And as we were sitting around, the transportation logistics came up. How were "guy" and "cousin" going to arrive at the campground we had set the tent up at earlier that afternoon? It was on the way for no one, being about 11 miles outside of town to the north west, and everyone else was either in town, south, or east of town. I volunteered to drive them out and help them collect firewood and food along the way. We left around 9:30 or so in the evening, which didn't seem too bad. However, by the time we got some "food" and some firewood and made it to the campground, it was nearing midnight, and it was starting to drizzle; I was also getting sleepy, and I was way the heck out in the middle of nowhere without street lights or cell phone coverage, and I started to be concerned about what could happen.

The manly men invited me to stay the night. They had for themselves a 3-room tent, 2 camp cots and 3 sleeping bags (just in case), and so really they thought it fine for me to join them as long as I wasn't put out by the testosterone. I agreed, and we set about trying to light the manly fire. First, however, I donned appropriate clothing, a turtleneck sweater and my light wool jacket, along with a pair of gloves I had in the car. The guys on the other hand just had t-shirts and shorts, which was a little chilly at this point. Remember drizzle? It had developed into rain. No worries, really, I produced a large golf umbrella from the car, big enough for the 3 of us to stand under and keep dry. However, it was apparently too wet for fire. I suggested we spray the logs with some of my hairspray and then light it...and it worked, until the hairspray burned off. Some drunk college students stumbled over to help, and opine over the fire, but they were too drunk to offer more than beer. After about an hour, we gave up the first "f" of manly camping. No worries, we still had forest and flatulence to keep us on track!

Gallant young cousin gave up his camp cot for me, and decided to be most manly and sleep on the cold hard ground. We arranged ourselves each in a room, with me on one end, and the guy all the way on the other. We had privacy and I had a camp cot and warm, fuzzy jammies (I had packed them just in case, one never knows what's going to happen when you go to meet the parents of a new boyfriend). I also had a fickle tummy that began seriously bothering me around 2 or 3 in the morning. I put on my shoes to walk over to the bathrooms, but when I stepped outside, water covered my whole foot and started pouring into my shoes. While honoring the gods of porcelain, I thought about the situation some. Upon returning to the tent, I woke up young cousin and insisted he take my cot as it was getting colder and he would soon be wet if he stayed on the ground. I headed across the tent to cuddle up with my guy on his cot. I hadn't planned on sleeping with him so soon, which was good, since every time I started to drift off, he started snoring in my ear, and I didn't actually get any sleep.

I started to get really cold. I kept begging my guy to hold me, and particularly to cover my back. I kept checking and my jammies were not riding up, I was not exposed, and yet I grew colder and colder. I couldn't sleep, between snoring and cold, it was too uncomfortable. Soon my nose had that icy feeling that comes when the temperature drops into the freezing range. I guess I must have drifted off at some point, because as dawns light was just beginning to break, cousin came in in shorts and t-shirt and announced he was going off to explore a little. As he left, I noticed that the tent roof was sagging a lot more than I would have expected from rain, but I was too tired to think much about it.

Cousin came back in less than 5 minutes, he was shivering. "Guys, it snowed" he announced. He went back to try to warm up in his sleeping bag, but having left it for a while, it too was now cold and he couldn't get warm. "Hey, can I come in with you?" he called. Within seconds, he'd dragged his cot and sleeping bag over, and piled in with us in our new, double-cot setup. Cozy doesn't go far enough to describe the situation.

Did I mention the dog? Yes there was a dog, a poodle to be precise. And she was shivering away in a corner of the tent, more accustomed to a warm house than cold woods in strange places where it snows in late May. In seconds flat, she too had joined us to try to take advantage of group body heat.

So there we were: 3 people, 2 camp cots and a dog, piled in one large heap, doing all that we could to stay warm. We thought about leaving, but that would mean getting up, that would mean getting cold, and the boys only had summer clothes. For me it was not too tragic since I had warm fuzzy jammies and that nice wool jacket. But trying to figure out what to do was more than our cold, sleepy brains could process at that moment, so we stayed put until 9 AM.

Around then a car horn sounded, and we heard a voice calling. It was the guy's dad. Panic raced through me as I thought "Oh no, what if he sees us all in bed together, what will he think?" Which was probably ridiculous since he'd likely think it had snowed, and we were camping, so we did what reasonable people who cared about not freezing to death would do and piled in together. Dad had come to rescue us and take us for a nice hot breakfast. I retreated to another room while we all dressed. We grabbed the golf umbrella, got into the car and drove off for the nicest, warmest breakfast I'd ever had.

So that was manly camping. As we mulled over the situation, relived and recounted it, something funny came to light. Remember my warm clothes, my fire starters, my large golf umbrella? Cousin noted that in manly camping, I had turned out to be the manliest camper of them all...that and that he had "slept" with me.

5 years later, I found myself with the same guy, our 2 children, and on only my 2nd camping adventure without a campfire.