My kids love to play camp out in the living room. Emily drags out her Tinker Bell cot and Eric locates some new double A's for his Spiderman flashlight. Beth burrows under a pile of covers and feigns snoring sounds. They dream they are resting in their tents after trudging for miles across barren plains. In reality, they feast on marshmallows, graham crackers and bits of chocolate. It’s hardly a woodsy escapade but for two preschoolers and a first grader it’s just about right.
Before I had children, oh so many years ago, I enjoyed wandering in a quiet wood. I suppose it’s because a ring of short hills, part of the Appalachian range, encircled our little home - so different from the corn fields the surround me now.
In autumn, when I was little, Mom would take us for hikes through the trees on a bright Saturday afternoon. We would follow a brook or wade through paths of red and yellow leaves. Eventually, we’d reach a small pond where Mom would rest while the kids searched for bugs and rabbits. Then Mom would show us how to identify a birch tree, strip away the bark from a twig, and chew the thin syrupy taste from the inner core.
As I grew older I yearned to return to the woods and soak in the sunshine and fresh air. When I was in college my roommate, Jenny, would often persuade me to ditch my Friday afternoon Calculus class. We’d jump in her brown hatch back and set off for a hike at the Delaware Water Gap. We’d climb rocks, trod streams, and tramp through brush without any concern or cares.
One November, shortly after we graduated from college Jenny phoned with a spectacular idea. What did I think about heading down to Shenandoah National Park for an early winter camping trip? Even though most of my camping up to this point had been setting up a tent in August at Jellystone Parks Campgrounds, I was eager to go along. A few days later Jenny and I and a half dozen other twenty-somethings were cruising west on Interstate 66 to Front Royal, Virginia. Our camping supplies included sleeping bags, tents, flashlights and matches. Though the sun shined brightly, the temperatures reached a mere forty two degrees and were falling.
The sun had set by the time we reached our camp site at Matthews Landing on the top of Sky Line Drive. Other than a raccoon who was intrigued by our presence, the camp grounds were deserted. Even the pit toilets had been closed for the season (and you all know what that means). By now, the temperatures had dropped to below freezing and there was a sharp wind whipping over the mountain top and biting at our cheeks and noses.
Our friend John, the most experienced outdoorsman in the group, took charge of starting a camp fire from leaves and kindling. The rest of us, bundled only in ski jackets and scarves, wandered off to unearth logs for the fire. I suppose I hadn’t planned well as my jacket was much too thin for conditions. Soon, my whole body trembled from cold. I remember finding a thick group of short trees and crawling in amongst them to escape the bite of the wind. I stayed until I heard the crackle of the camp fire calling me back to the group.
Then, like a scene that only occurs in Broadway musicals, or among college students, someone pulled out an acoustic guitar and started strumming camp songs and Beatles tunes. Soon we were all singing Kumbaya at the top of our lungs, roasting hot dogs on sticks and downing hot chocolate spiked with Baileys. Above us, a million stars danced along to the music while a handful of snowflakes flitted down from the sky. The only sounds were the music, the spitting of the fire and the howling of the wind and the night air tasted clean, pure and beautiful. It sounds kinda corny now, but I remember thinking then that it was the best adventure of my life. In truth the best adventure was still around the corner.
As I help my children set up their living room camp site, we imagine ourselves huddled together around a snapping fire. They poke invisible hot dogs onto imaginary sticks. And we sing about a farmer in a dell and a dog named Bingo while we drink apple juice from sippy cups.
Both camping trips were cozy and comforting and I feel lucky to have been able to be a part of each of them. And while it’s true that my days of camping on the top of Old Smokey on a blustery November night are probably behind me, I am still living the best adventure of my life - the adventure of motherhood.
Before I had children, oh so many years ago, I enjoyed wandering in a quiet wood. I suppose it’s because a ring of short hills, part of the Appalachian range, encircled our little home - so different from the corn fields the surround me now.
In autumn, when I was little, Mom would take us for hikes through the trees on a bright Saturday afternoon. We would follow a brook or wade through paths of red and yellow leaves. Eventually, we’d reach a small pond where Mom would rest while the kids searched for bugs and rabbits. Then Mom would show us how to identify a birch tree, strip away the bark from a twig, and chew the thin syrupy taste from the inner core.
As I grew older I yearned to return to the woods and soak in the sunshine and fresh air. When I was in college my roommate, Jenny, would often persuade me to ditch my Friday afternoon Calculus class. We’d jump in her brown hatch back and set off for a hike at the Delaware Water Gap. We’d climb rocks, trod streams, and tramp through brush without any concern or cares.
One November, shortly after we graduated from college Jenny phoned with a spectacular idea. What did I think about heading down to Shenandoah National Park for an early winter camping trip? Even though most of my camping up to this point had been setting up a tent in August at Jellystone Parks Campgrounds, I was eager to go along. A few days later Jenny and I and a half dozen other twenty-somethings were cruising west on Interstate 66 to Front Royal, Virginia. Our camping supplies included sleeping bags, tents, flashlights and matches. Though the sun shined brightly, the temperatures reached a mere forty two degrees and were falling.
The sun had set by the time we reached our camp site at Matthews Landing on the top of Sky Line Drive. Other than a raccoon who was intrigued by our presence, the camp grounds were deserted. Even the pit toilets had been closed for the season (and you all know what that means). By now, the temperatures had dropped to below freezing and there was a sharp wind whipping over the mountain top and biting at our cheeks and noses.
Our friend John, the most experienced outdoorsman in the group, took charge of starting a camp fire from leaves and kindling. The rest of us, bundled only in ski jackets and scarves, wandered off to unearth logs for the fire. I suppose I hadn’t planned well as my jacket was much too thin for conditions. Soon, my whole body trembled from cold. I remember finding a thick group of short trees and crawling in amongst them to escape the bite of the wind. I stayed until I heard the crackle of the camp fire calling me back to the group.
Then, like a scene that only occurs in Broadway musicals, or among college students, someone pulled out an acoustic guitar and started strumming camp songs and Beatles tunes. Soon we were all singing Kumbaya at the top of our lungs, roasting hot dogs on sticks and downing hot chocolate spiked with Baileys. Above us, a million stars danced along to the music while a handful of snowflakes flitted down from the sky. The only sounds were the music, the spitting of the fire and the howling of the wind and the night air tasted clean, pure and beautiful. It sounds kinda corny now, but I remember thinking then that it was the best adventure of my life. In truth the best adventure was still around the corner.
As I help my children set up their living room camp site, we imagine ourselves huddled together around a snapping fire. They poke invisible hot dogs onto imaginary sticks. And we sing about a farmer in a dell and a dog named Bingo while we drink apple juice from sippy cups.
Both camping trips were cozy and comforting and I feel lucky to have been able to be a part of each of them. And while it’s true that my days of camping on the top of Old Smokey on a blustery November night are probably behind me, I am still living the best adventure of my life - the adventure of motherhood.
1 comment:
:) That is all.
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