July 25

Today is my mom's birthday, and we used to go camping to celebrate her birthday. I've been really wanting to go camping (or at least to the mountains) lately, so today I'm going to reminisce about the good ol' camping trip days.

I grew up going camping with my family, even before we moved to NC. We had one of those big, army-green, industrial-strength canvas tents that all five of us slept in. That was a long time ago, when Kate was just a baby, when my mom would string up the hammock and place Baby Kate on her chest and rock away the day. When we moved to Boone we took at least one family camping trip to Huntington Beach, SC (with Western Otto and co.), but the trips I'm most fond of are the ones that occurred in my twenties...where Kate, David and I would escape the oppressive Chapel Hill heat and drive west, sometimes to Price Park between Boone and Blowing Rock, sometimes to Stone Mountain or Daughton Park near Sparta, NC, a couple of times up to the breahtaking Grayson Highlands in Virginia.

My mom would always get there first and scope out and claim the best camp sites. Otto would often pitch his tent next, and sometimes the two of them would enjoy a full 24-hours of quiet camping time before us young folk arrived. These were weekend, car-camping trips...no backpacking, no-heavy duty hiking miles in the woods before you found your site, always a bathroom with running water, sometimes a hot shower, sometimes not. It got to be where planning and looking forward to the weekend trip was a major part of the fun of it. Over the years my mom acquired big Rubbermaid storage bins and began organizing the camp gear according to her lists that included the essentials: pots, pans, stove, propane, plates, bowls, forks, spoons, paper towels, toilet paper, flashlight, tablecloth, trashbags, firewood, matches, poncho, camp chairs, food, rain tarp, beer, etc. Despite the well-intentioned lists and supposedly improved organization system each time we went, without fail, my mom always forgot something. Sometimes it was negligent, like the salt and pepper shakers, but sometimes it was a bigger deal. Like the time she forgot to pack her tent on our group camping trip in Colorado. Otto came to the rescue with his covered pick-up truck with a twin mattress in the back. Now that's roughing it.

I always loved arriving to the camp sites after my mom and Otto had already set up shop. It was like stepping into nature's living room with so many comforts and things to do and things to eat and drink, I often didn't know where to start. Did I want a cold beer or a glass of lemonade? Did I want to sit and read the Spectator or eat a cookie? Did I want to go on a hike or lie in the hammock? If we showed up at lunchtime, we had pimento cheese sandwiches, fruit, chips, cookies, etc. We'd pop up our dome tents (David and me in one, Kate and my mom in one, Otto in one) as fast as we could so the relaxing could begin. Many times it was just the five of us, but sometimes there would be others. We were careful and discerning about who we invited as we had a good vibe going and didn't want any incompatible personalities tipping the mood south. We almost always went on a hike or some type of walk in the afternoon and made it back in the early evening to snack and begin thinking about supper.

A good deal of time and energy was spent on what we were going to eat, preparing what we were going to eat, and then eating what we were going to eat. The food was so good. If it was a two-night trip, Friday night's supper was my mom's black bean chili chowder over brown rice with cheddar cheese and sour cream. Saturday's supper was something I looked forward to all year long, Otto's delectable pine nut pesto pasta. I wish I had some right now. The propane-powered double-burner camp stove allowed us to boil water for the rice and pasta in the evenings and to brew coffee and fry turkey sausage in the mornings. We cooked on the stove, but we gathered by the fire. Waiting for sundown, getting the fire going, sitting around the fire with a tasty drink and a satisfied belly was my favorite part. It's when the stories and the music started. The air was cool and we put on our jeans, flannel shirts, hooded sweatshirts and hiking boots. There were no cell phones to talk on or text on. No one had computers and this was before email, the internet, Blogger, MySpace, Facebook, and Twitter. This was also before we had kids. There was no where else we had to be or would rather be. There was nothing else we had to do other than sit, relax, and talk. My mom and Otto told stories of the past, funny stories, strange stories, sad stories. Stories that maybe we'd heard a hundred times and could hear a hundred more. When we got tired of talking and laughing, Otto played his guitar and sang some songs. It was wonderful. We could stay up late or turn in early. Whatever was our pleasure. We usually all went to bed early, after the beer and whiskey were gone, after the last fire log was stoked. But early to bed meant early to rise.

Whomever peeped first rekindled the fire and got the coffee water started. There's just nothing in the world like waking up (hopefully from a restful sleep), putting your layers back on and stepping out into the crisp mountain morning air. There's one particular trip that I'll never forget. It was the five of us plus Walter and his son. One evening we listened to a family play some music together at the common area and then went to a grassy field to stargaze. Later that night (after A got pretty badly burned...turned out ok, but not a good thing at the time) as we were all settled into our respective tents it began to rain. And it rained hard. (Not as hard as the last time we all tried to camp together...but that's a different story). It rained and rained and rained and then rained some more. Rain can truly ruin a camping trip, but not this time. Our tents were up and dry, we were cozy inside, and there was nothing to do except to listen, think, and drift off to sleep. It's one of my favorite memories of all time.

As I sit in my kitchen looking around at everything I need to clean, straighten, and put away, I long for a date with the simple life. Nature's living room full of trees and leaves instead of pictures that need to be dusted and floors that need to be swept. Maybe the allure, though, is that a weekend away from the trappings of plugged-in life is sweeter because it IS different and calm and special and relaxing and not the norm. Whatever it is, I wish I were there now.