Camping is a gift given from parents to their children. I say it is a gift, because a gift can be given out of love, can come with great sacrifice, effort, and at times, pain. A gift is also received and enjoyed by the other party with little to no expectation of reciprocation. It is their rite. While I wash every item of clothing, plan and pack for an elaborate and well fed rustic weekend the children frolic about dirtying the only clean clothes they have. While the parents unpack, set up the tent, the children explore, build forts and locate the stash of marshmallows.
To camp we got up early, packed all of the sleepy kids in the car who drank (from ages 5 and 3/4 to 4 and 1) bottles of chocolate milk. It was my makeshift breakfast on the run when all other sippy-cups were evidently well packed in our Mini-van stocked with everything and anything you could need, want, or imagine. Aside from a well balanced breakfast of
bottles for large children, when camping we are of course late running late. I find we always underestimate the time it takes for last minute packing and actually dragging yourself out of bed. Unfortunately, ferries are never late. From the city to Anacortes we rushed and rushed.
The real road crisis, that although running late, we still had a possibility of catching the 7 am ferry to San Jaun, the last for another 2 1/2 hours. We made it with minutes to spare and we, of course, picked the very slowest line available. It was painful. While other lines moved car after car our line was still. Not one car moved. Meanwhile the clock is ticking. The clock is tocking. Time is passing as we watched our ferry leave meanwhile we still waited in our stagnant line. (I am holding back the many rude and disparaging comments I have at my fingertips about the very slow ferry attendant.)
Lesson: When you camp you may miss the 7:00 am ferry but remember there is always one in another 2 1/2 hours
Lesson: To avoid the above mentioned lesson set alarm early and avoid snooze. Above all never pick the slowest line. Whether late or not a stagnant line is never a good time.
It is a wonderful feeling, exhaustion, to begin a long camping weekend. After a stressful car-ride full of ferry anticipation and incumbent disappointment, a 2 1/2 hour wait and subsequent hour ferry I was worn out. At this point in my first trimester I am worn out after pouring cereal for my kids at breakfast and am ready for my morning nap. (although this does not happen!) With our tired frame of minds, worn from waiting we set up our tents. It must have been fatigue that clouded our judgement, because we set our tent up on such a slope. One side of our tent was situated at the top and the other side of the tent was located at the bottom of the deep slope. In the light of day with fatigue on the brain it did not seem like a bad idea. I thought it would be just fine to have my head up and my feet down.
However, when I could keep my eyes open no longer I crawled into the dark tent and climbed into my sleeping bag. The slope that seemed manageable in the day was my foe. Although my head was up and my feet down, I could not keep the top half of my body above the mid l ine of the slope. I slid. I slid some more. I slid and finally I fell asleep. In the middle of the night I woke up, adrenaline pumping, and totally and utterly disoriented. I had fallen to the very bottom of the tent and could not see anyone in my very sleepy state. Thinking everyone in the tent gone, panic set in, "Dave, where are you," I called. "Dave." From there the camp site cacophony set in. Amelia and Max joined me at the bottom of the tent, but were not happy about it. They kicked and bumped and clambered over and under each other. Our friend's new born baby cried and cried with out any consolation. In the dark sleepiness of night all of noise, discomfort, and sleeplessness seemed as an eternity. The night of eight hours felt like a lifetime of un-sleep. When the sun finally shown its first rays across the deep blue sky I happily pulled myself from the pile at the bottom of our tent to join the day.
Lesson: Do not set up tent on a hill. What may look benign by day is insidious at night.
In the daylight hours the slope where are tent was so precariously staked, beckoned us to the water. Our beautiful campsite butted against the lake and and private rock hideaway. From the earliest hours the kids ran, dug, imagined and explored. Camping unlocks a child's manifest destiny to imagine and create. The rocks transformed to Rock World where boys and girls fought for dominance over ancient ruins, old distressed bark riddled with insect marks. When out of Rock world the kids jumped from the over-sized fallen log into our private entrance into the freezing lake and rowed and fished and fished and rowed in our very own (rented for the weekend) boats.
Lesson: To kids it does not matter where a tent is pitched, but just to sleep outside.
I won't even try to elaborate on how long our tent, sleeping bags, cooler, bags of smokey clothes remained in our car. Over the course of weeks I took a little here and a little there to our living room floor. It was wonderful to remember camping anytime I drove or spent time in my living room. It was as though the outdoors was permanently in our home! San Jaun almost literally on my Persian rug.
