Roughing it

September 17, 2011

My son and I waited all summer for a chance to go camping.  We waited for my husband’s work to slow down.  We waited for roads to be repaired and campgrounds to be reopened after the spring flooding.  We waited for a free weekend without other commitments.  

And suddenly, it is September.  The nights are getting cooler.  Summer is turning into fall, and still we hadn’t gone camping.

We decided it was now or next year.  But where to go?  We had a festival and a birthday party on Saturday and the first day of Sunday school on Sunday.  There wasn’t time to pack a cooler and supplies and drive off for a full weekend. 

I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before.  We could have been camping all summer. 

We pitched the tent in the backyard and hauled our sleeping bags across the lawn.  I arranged to barrow my brother’s fire pit.

We didn’t actually get to the fire this time around.  My son was given a choice to continue playing at the birthday party, or head home for a camp fire before bed.  He chose the party.  We’ll save the s’mores for next time.

At bedtime, we strapped on our headlamps and marched out to the tent.  We read my son’s favorite story on our tummies, stretched out in our sleeping bags. 

As a wildland firefighter, my husband spends a lot of time in a tent.  After a busy summer at work, sleeping outside doesn’t hold the same charm for him.  He was looking forward to spending his first Saturday in months in his own bed. 

He tucked us in and retired to the house.  We turned out our headlamps and watched the shadows move across the tent, cast long by the light of a nearly full moon.  My son thought they might look like monsters.  I assured him it was only the shadows of our old, familiar trees. 

His fears disappeared and soon he was asleep. He didn’t wake to the sound of the car alarm down the street, or the loud revving of an engine. 

I didn’t awaken either, because I was already wide-eyed.  Sleeping outside in town is not quite as peaceful as it is in the woods.  Eventually, the whole town fell asleep, and so did I. 

My son and I awoke to birds singing and sunshine.  The air held the chill of fall and the smell of late summer.  It was a perfect morning to wake up in a tent. 

We prepared our eggs and sausage on the camp stove in the yard.  My son was thrilled to watch my husband use his Jetboil to heat the water for his cereal. 

My son swore his instant oatmeal was better than any he’d ever eaten.  Food always tastes better when you’re having an adventure. 

We cleaned up our outdoor kitchen and headed off to Sunday school.  No cooler to unpack.  A hot shower in my own bathroom.  I could get used to roughing it like this.

This article first appeared in the Lewistown News-Argus and the Sidney (Mont.) Herald on September 17, 2011.