“Camping”

June 1, 2013

We went “camping” over Memorial Day. 

Camping sans quotation marks involves no plumbing for miles, the threat of being eaten by a bear, and dehydrated meat. 

“Camping” in quotation marks means going to a family-friendly campground with hot showers and working toilets and in this case, two man-made ponds fully stocked with trout. 

My husband doesn’t believe me that I did a lot of real camping in my past life. 

I know what it feels like to be awakened in the middle of the night by a forest ranger warning of a mama bear and her cub in the area. 

My dad once had to burn a hungry tick from my backside.  I was a kid, but still, it was super weird.

I’ve eaten beef jerky before.

I don’t think my husband believes any of this. 

The first time he took me hiking I had a hypoglycemic attack. I hadn’t had one of those in years, and I haven’t had one since. 

He’s convinced it had to do with hiking.  I tried to explain that it was a combination of too little sleep, too much sugar, and not enough protein, probably for several days prior to our hike. 

He still doesn’t believe me.

The second time he took me hiking I forgot the brand new fancy hiking shoes he’d purchased for me specifically for that trip. 

And so, we went “camping” last weekend. 

The campground is clean, quiet, and family friendly. We pitched our tent along a river raging beautifully with spring runoff. 

A mother Canadian goose sat nestled on her eggs on a fallen tree in the water 15 yards from our tent.

A mother owl perched with her two hatchlings in a tree along the path to the ponds.

The river drowned out the sounds of nearby campers and muffled our seven-month-old’s cries when he woke up cold at four in the morning.

We played tetherball and catch and our son fished all day on a soft grassy bank in crystal clear water.

We could have done much worse.

My husband begrudgingly admitted that it was a pretty nice place.  He even took a few pictures on his iPad. 

This is a far cry from the guy who I wasn’t sure had even told any of his friends he was going.  Apparently, “camping” is not something wildland firefighters endorse.  

My husband grimaced when I headed towards the showers in the morning.  I told him a hungry mama bear is nothing compared to a sleep-deprived mama human who doesn’t get her morning shower.

I can handle going a day or two without a shower.  I can handle a few sleepless nights on the cold, hard ground.  But I can’t handle both.

I have promised my husband that someday I will go real camping with him. 

When the kids are old enough to sleep in their own tent and we can get at least five hours of solid sleep. 

When I don’t have to figure out how to wash bottles and the cooler isn’t stocked full of baby food. 

Until then, “camping” it is for a few more years.

This article first appeared in the Lewistown News-Argus and the Sidney (Mont.) Herald on June 1, 2013.