Camping is for Sissies!
So, we went camping last August to McCarthur-Burney Falls State Park . Imagine seven people, several dogs, three meals-a-day and endless snacks. Stress and dirt out of every orifice! Packing and unpacking, shopping and cooking. Decisions of what to do and when to do it. My husband and I had our once-a year-blow-out argument...all in the name of camping! I can't even remember what it was about.
"Special" Camp memories: Camping is the middle-class's idea of roughing it. Now, granted, I'm guilty as well. We used to tent-it,when the kids were wee, but now that we require more comfortable accommodations, we go all the way in our 1978 Airstream™ luxury travel trailer (not really, 'cuz when we're 'boon-docking', we can't use the shower or flush), which includes; an indoor toilet /a tiny shower, sink, stove, 'fridge and two twin beds [please no comment]. But, in the past few years I've observed that camping is the furthest thing that most people do at State Parks. The massive RV convoys that enter the pristine pine forests these days look like a contingent
of Hilton Hotels on wheels. These monster RV's precariously navigate the narrow one-lane roads to their rustic holiday destination, swiping at boulders and taking out the branches above that get in their way. As they back up into their spaces with electronic rear cameras, you can hear the walkie-talkie instructions and back-and-forth banter from 200 yards away! Then the back "toy box" flips open, the bikes, je
t-ski's, quads, and various recreational equipment emerge. You can hear the generators grinding continuously as the "campers" hunker inside their air-conditioned, microwave, dishwasher equipped, cappuccino-maker appointed RV's (with TV and Satellite dishes atop), afraid to come outside lest a mosquito bite their fat Bubba asses! It doesn't matter if it's 8am, the aluminum beer can in the Styrofoam holder is a permanent accessory.
Meanwhile, back at my campsite, "the natives are restless" and they all decide to go fishing. Ahh...finally a moment t
o myself (it's day six): So, I try to get a little reading in before dinner, getting oh-so-comfy in my collapsible Costco camp-chair, open my high-brow People Magazine, when the beefy guy in the wife-beater, tank-top across from our campsite, decides to show his Big Gulp drinking son how to properly light a barbecue fire. This moron's carbon footprint is beyond massive-and climbing-, as he manages to empty an entire canister of Char-glo lighter fluid onto his heaping pile of briquettes and illegally salvaged kindling. 45 minutes later and the fire is raging five ft. above his tiny Smokey Joe. The charcoal is red-hot, drenched in gasoline, however, he thinks it needs more and more fuel. The noxious fumes are now wafting into my camp and up into my nostrils, so I quickly escape into my trailer before my head implodes. Hiding from Nature. Mmm, the peace...the quiet.... the serenity. Fortunately, the family (" Mom" finally emerges from the Mo-Ho for the first time all day...who knew she existed?) decides to go to the Park Ranger Campfire for the evening. They get in their black Escalade and drive the .03 miles to hear Ranger Rick extol the virtues of living with nature. They feel good. I feel better-they're gone!
Later that evening, when the campground seemed quite still and it appeared that all were tucked in after a hearty meal of fish and wine, Mark and I slipped across the darkened meadow, clutching our single flashlight which guided us to a spot where we laid down onto our bamboo beach mats. We were high above a cliff on the rim of the river and we could hear the waterfalls gushing in the distance. As we looked up, up, to my surprise the bounty of stars was sparkling more brightly than I could ever remember seeing them. The inky backdrop was beyond my reach, but the stars were seemingly close enough to touch. We counted five shooting stars and made wishes. It is truly unexplainable, but when you see the heavens, as billions have since, forever, you quickly forget the annoyances and problems of everyday life, because everything seems trivial when you gaze up at the vast horizons. It's all OK. Look up!
"Special" Camp memories: Camping is the middle-class's idea of roughing it. Now, granted, I'm guilty as well. We used to tent-it,when the kids were wee, but now that we require more comfortable accommodations, we go all the way in our 1978 Airstream™ luxury travel trailer (not really, 'cuz when we're 'boon-docking', we can't use the shower or flush), which includes; an indoor toilet /a tiny shower, sink, stove, 'fridge and two twin beds [please no comment]. But, in the past few years I've observed that camping is the furthest thing that most people do at State Parks. The massive RV convoys that enter the pristine pine forests these days look like a contingent
of Hilton Hotels on wheels. These monster RV's precariously navigate the narrow one-lane roads to their rustic holiday destination, swiping at boulders and taking out the branches above that get in their way. As they back up into their spaces with electronic rear cameras, you can hear the walkie-talkie instructions and back-and-forth banter from 200 yards away! Then the back "toy box" flips open, the bikes, je
t-ski's, quads, and various recreational equipment emerge. You can hear the generators grinding continuously as the "campers" hunker inside their air-conditioned, microwave, dishwasher equipped, cappuccino-maker appointed RV's (with TV and Satellite dishes atop), afraid to come outside lest a mosquito bite their fat Bubba asses! It doesn't matter if it's 8am, the aluminum beer can in the Styrofoam holder is a permanent accessory. Meanwhile, back at my campsite, "the natives are restless" and they all decide to go fishing. Ahh...finally a moment t
o myself (it's day six): So, I try to get a little reading in before dinner, getting oh-so-comfy in my collapsible Costco camp-chair, open my high-brow People Magazine, when the beefy guy in the wife-beater, tank-top across from our campsite, decides to show his Big Gulp drinking son how to properly light a barbecue fire. This moron's carbon footprint is beyond massive-and climbing-, as he manages to empty an entire canister of Char-glo lighter fluid onto his heaping pile of briquettes and illegally salvaged kindling. 45 minutes later and the fire is raging five ft. above his tiny Smokey Joe. The charcoal is red-hot, drenched in gasoline, however, he thinks it needs more and more fuel. The noxious fumes are now wafting into my camp and up into my nostrils, so I quickly escape into my trailer before my head implodes. Hiding from Nature. Mmm, the peace...the quiet.... the serenity. Fortunately, the family (" Mom" finally emerges from the Mo-Ho for the first time all day...who knew she existed?) decides to go to the Park Ranger Campfire for the evening. They get in their black Escalade and drive the .03 miles to hear Ranger Rick extol the virtues of living with nature. They feel good. I feel better-they're gone!Later that evening, when the campground seemed quite still and it appeared that all were tucked in after a hearty meal of fish and wine, Mark and I slipped across the darkened meadow, clutching our single flashlight which guided us to a spot where we laid down onto our bamboo beach mats. We were high above a cliff on the rim of the river and we could hear the waterfalls gushing in the distance. As we looked up, up, to my surprise the bounty of stars was sparkling more brightly than I could ever remember seeing them. The inky backdrop was beyond my reach, but the stars were seemingly close enough to touch. We counted five shooting stars and made wishes. It is truly unexplainable, but when you see the heavens, as billions have since, forever, you quickly forget the annoyances and problems of everyday life, because everything seems trivial when you gaze up at the vast horizons. It's all OK. Look up!
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