Last week’s column (of course, you read it), was about how we needed every gadget under the sun to take our family tent camping in Luray last summer. Our eldest was leaving for college in a couple of weeks, and this trip was supposed to be like the “going abroad experience,” just cheaper and with more family members hanging around.
To understand the trip, you first have to analyze how we end the trip. Most people come home from an activity and unpack or just relax. Not my husband. He is one of those painfully organized people who, all the way home, is dictating the list of things that would really have improved the current experience. Don’t think that by driving separate, stuffed vehicles, you are going to escape this discussion. No. That’s why we have cell phones, or even worse, those handheld walkie-talkies that are the bane of every outing.
We have to do this on the way home, because otherwise he might forget. Never mind that our next camping trip won’t be for another four years. When it finally does happen, at least it will be more efficient.
His comments begin streaming, “We should buy a bigger shower bag. You can get them with double the insulation. We need better bungee cords to strap stuff down to the top of the car.” Or, we need to stock up on extra propane tanks. Also, there is advice on how to pack next time. “Make sure you store those picnic table clamps with the cover next time.” That was silly, how we had to waste eight minutes looking for the clamps with the tablecloth flapping our plates off. Or, he might say, “We should really buy the little shaker that combines the salt and the pepper, because that could cut down on the amount of stuff we are carrying by eliminating one shaker entirely.” There are eight of us, our dog, loads of food, tents, sleeping bags, and every gadget known to man crammed into two cars. We needed to drive both in order to haul all the specialized camping stuff. Now we need the combo shaker?
The only thing worse than getting these lists dictated to you along the way, is, God forbid, if you happen to be driving anywhere within view of a Wal-Mart or a sporting goods store. Then, we will have to stop on the way home and shop for the next, improved trip right there on the way back while the memory of what needs improvement is still raw in our minds.
The last time we had been camping, our family had had just six of us, and no dog. Immediately after that trip, we bought a ten-man tent to better accommodate us. By the time we actually opened the tent, our family had grown by 33%, not including the canine.
The ten-man tent is a bit of false advertising. It might be great for ten men, provided each one is built like a matchstick. Matchstick-Man also needs to be comfortable sleeping in an alternating head-toe pattern with the rest of the Matchstick Gang. Don’t bother mentioning foot odor, because if the Matchstick Gang has had beans and processed meat for dinner, foot odor is going to be by far the more pleasant of odors that might be wafting his way. Other issues will be far more volatile, if you get my drift. (Hopefully, when you go camping, you will not get my drift - or anyone else’s, for that matter.)
For a family of eight people, most of whom have padded proportions, however, the accommodations of the ten-man tent are a little snug. Consider that we, the padded ones, have recently been dining nonstop on hot dogs, marshmallows, and chocolate, and you will understand why the tent gets snugger as the trip goes on. By the end of our camping trip, I was beginning to wonder if our tent was missing the second level.
To my husband’s credit, he had had the sense to do a practice run on the tent in a controlled, low-pressure environment the day before. He is one of those rare individuals: prompt and organized, he thinks details through. It’s wonderful to have people like this organize an activity, unless you also happen to live with them. He had completely set up the tent in our front yard the day before our camping trip. (Fortunately, it fit there.) The younger kids, too young to be impacted by the stress of packing and preparations, squealed with delight and dashed in and out of the big, billowing tent. They reveled in its cavernous space. (Wait till we add people and pillows, Guys.)
When we rolled into the campground the next evening, the older kids spied the gigantic Yogi Bear statue (how could they not?), and looked at me and rolled their eyes. For some odd reason, I suspected they weren’t looking heavenward and thanking their lucky stars for such wonderful, family-fun loving, parents. They were praying they wouldn’t encounter anyone they knew.
As we maneuvered to our tent-site, I was relieved that my husband had taken the precautionary measure of setting up the tent at home, because we positioned our cars into the campsite just as daylight was donning her running shoes and preparing to flee. With dusk encroaching, a light but insistent drizzle began, eventually leaving us chilled-to-the-bone, even for August.
I wondered if this is what England felt like. Didn’t I say camping was almost like going to Europe?
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