We used to “camp” in our pop-up camper when the kids were young. It was chaotic, unruly, uneven, and wonderful. There was bickering and laughter. And lots of bike riding and eating of pie. And we loved every minute of it.
After our little home away from home became a winter dwelling place for mice and deemed unlivable by our insurance agency, summer camping moved to memories. In no time our vacations became summer jobs and babysitting for the neighbors. It wasn’t long each child set off on their own outside adventures- backpacking, climbing mountains and tackling rugged trails.
Now just the two of us, we talk about buying a nice tent that allows us to stand when leaving our cozy space and sleeping comfortably on a pad thick enough to cover the bump from a blade of grass to the probable tree root. We were backpackers in the day, hiking hundreds of miles on the Pacific Crest Trail. Yet, we still only talk about camping, still not buying the newest sleeping bag or camping stove with the most updated technology. Instead, we look for deals to cruise the Bahamas or places to listen to the ocean waves from our hotel deck.
Then this summer we camped without having to buy any new equipment. The website calls it “glamping”, but we like to say we camped. There isn’t any place to set our morning yoga mats, and someone needs to sit down at the little table so the other can pass to the queen size bed or the bathroom with the flushing toilet. It’s only a dorm size fridge and a low flow all-purpose sink and a shower with eventual hot water.
It’s camping for the mid-century adult.
Then there is the view- a bed to ceiling picture window looking out at the birch trees standing tall and inviting us out to play.
That might be where the “glamping” comes in. The window.
As I lit a fire at our campsite, I remembered family trips when I was asked to light a morning fire. I don’t remember ever saying “yes” to the request. Now I wonder why. What I was saying “no” to and what would I have been given if I had said “yes.”
I might have encountered morning s’mores and charades. And laughter. But more likely shared space with bleary eyed children eating from their little boxes of cereal and gazing quietly into the flames lighting their anticipation for the day ahead.
I would have been given another chance to hold the moment with my people and pray as the melancholy sound of crackling wood warmed after a cool night’s rest.
