Let’s face facts: Camping is fun.
Of course, we don’t rough it like we used to with leaky tents and pop-ups. As much younger parents, we were better equipped physically and emotionally to deal with vicissitudes that came with camping on a shoe string.
As Jack Parr used to say, “I kid you not.” When we piled kids, gear and bikes into our old SUV, it was like packing sardines. With a spare tire and duffle bags tied on top and an old Volkswagen seat in the back for extra kids, we were on our way.
When gas was less than a half-dollar per gallon, we sharpened our pencils and kept track of every penny spent to get to our destination. Kaye would then lock that amount in the glove box so we would have enough to drive home. I remember once when we arrived back in Morrisonville with only enough money to buy ice cream. We pulled into our driveway with full stomachs and an empty wallet.
Our recent sojourn to Cole’s Creek near Waddington was more laid back with a 28-foot self-contained camper.
There was a lot of leisure time for reading, and I kicked back with Stephen’s Kings 2-pound tome “11/12/63.” One reviewer called it a “magnum opus.” I’ve joined countless others who are fascinated by the concept of time travel and have written about it myself. I found the latest King offering almost as stimulating as his classic “The Stand.” With my stack of books, I was in literary heaven.
I was engrossed in reading at our campsite when our daughter-in-law, Judy Baker, called me on the phone and urged us to join her at the pavilion in the park. She found herself the sole audience member at a one-man impromptu violin concert and wanted to share the enjoyment. Kaye and I donned our flip-flops and walked hand-in-hand to join Judy at her picnic-table seat.