A Camper’s Life Is For the Young.

Banging on the table I yelled, “Come and get it, breakfast is ready.”

I waved a paper over the frying bacon and eggs until the smell permeated our campsite.

Half awake, disheveled and hungry, they flocked to the table and started eating. Everybody was happy, who wouldn’t be?

Looking back on our lives, camping was one of our hardships and pleasures. 

Waking up to the smell of pine trees I will never forget, nor the doubts about our sanity.

I remember one night we were huddled around the embers of a campfire, shivering.

On the campsite next to us was a huge 45-foot trailer. With their curtains open, they were quite visible. With large slices of pizza in their hands, they were watching TV.

Betty said to me, “I wish I had a slice and were as warm as they are.”

I felt guilty. I put a blanket and my arm around her.

Do they get the smell of the pines? No.

Do they have to find a large site to park that monster? Yes.

On the road, they only get about seven miles to a gallon of gas. 

They have to pay more at the trailer parks. 

Pulling that monster is hard on their car’s transmission.

I don’t think I convinced her. Besides I also had some of her feelings.

Our last camping trip was to Bug Sur.

Judy and Steve reluctantly went with us.

They were developing other interests.

Judy missed her friends. Steve had developed a lifelong passion for coins, particularly rare and expensive ones.

Betty and I stopped camping.

A camper’s life is for the young.

(January 1, 2021)