The Domesticated Camper
By Wendy Wheatley
I live in the Pacific Northwest where it is a requirement to be a camper. And I'm not just talking about set up the tent and cook hot dogs by the campfire - these guys are serious. Their idea of camping is where you're blindfolded and dropped off in an unknown location on Mt. St. Helens without any food or supplies - and you have 3 days to make it home alive.
Camping is serious business out here. It's not at all similar to the outdoor activities we did in Illinois where I grew up. I can still remember the spirited discussions we had on how many different ways you could grow corn. Now that was a sport! But here, camping is to the serious pastime. This just being Memorial Day weekend, the official kick-off for campers, I never realized just how out of the loop I was with my lack of camping. My species is of the genus, "Dooferus Camperus", deriving from the Latin meaning, "Have no brains in the outdoors." I used to be a serious camper when I was growing up with my family. We would rent a cabin and have to actually buy our food from a "market". There were no grocery stores. No siree. And we even had to carry our groceries to the car ourselves and, GASP, actually put them in the trunk of the car. Now that, my friends, was roughing it. You can imagine my surprise when I proudly bragged to a seasoned NW campers of my heroic efforts. I still can't get the tent pole out of my ..... Anyway, for years I've yearned so badly to fit in and actually "camp". So last year, my husband (who is just as experienced in the world of camping as I am) and I made the decision - we're going camping. None of this pansy renting a cabin and taking the easy route. We're going to do this right - we're going to camp - in our friend's backyard. And so we did. Sort of. We prepared like there was no tomorrow. We brought 2 coolers, plenty of hot dogs, buns, juice boxes, ice, an air mattress (a must!) and went on our way. However, we had that horrible nagging feeling of forgetting something and we didn't realized it until we arrived at our destination (our friend's backyard) what we had actually forgotten for our camping trip (in our friend's backyard). Yep, you guessed it. We didn't have a tent for our camping trip (in our friend's backyard). Well, lo and behold, our thoughtful friends just happened to have a tent for us! I think they know the Wheatley's just a little too well. And so we camped (in our friend's backyard). The first night of our challenging camping trip (in our friend's backyard) went just fine, except for the howling wind. I was 6 months pregnant (I never was very bright) with our 3rd daughter and our 2 girls were 3 and 1 at the time. We reassured them that the wind was harmless and they didn't have a thing to worry about. We completely believed our reassurances until our tent was blown over with all four of us trapped inside. We spent the night in the garage. Upon our arrival home, everyone wanted to know how the 1st official camping trip for the Wheatley's went. (I had, of course, informed each and every human being I came in contact with of our impending journey into the wilderness, a.k.a - our friend's backyard). Grudgingly, I spilled every gorey detail, including the horrific climax of where we eventually slept for the night. With every close friend of ours being a seasoned camper, it's difficult for us to hold our heads high. We had failed at the official pastime of the Pacific Northwest. But we do have some hope of eventually becoming veteran campers. Next season, we're going to set up camp in a little bit more familiar territory - our own backyard.
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