Camping with Children

We're campers. Many people aren't. In fact, an old co-worker of mine told me once that she couldn't understand camping. She said the whole principle was based on taking all the nice clean stuff out of your house, packing it in the car, driving a long ways, and throwing it in the dirt.

For us, camping was one of the most important elements in our child-rearing bag o' tricks. It was also a frugal way to get the family out of the house.

We're lucky enough to live in an area with streams, rivers, lagoons, Pacific ocean, mountains . . . any and all the places you could want to camp. Here, I'll show you. Day-before-yesterday we went for a drive along the Trinity River and stopped at a likely camping spot:

With a pit toilet,

And a picnic table and fire pit,

And a bald eagle in a tree across the river. These are the types of places we went.

We still keep a tent, sleeping bags, a couple of coolers, and a kitchen box even though our days of camping "in the dirt" are just about behind us. The kitchen box has camping stove and fuel, lantern and fuel, a pot, a cast-iron pan, cooking utensils, plates, napkins, forks, etc., matches, dish- and regular soap, a hatchet and machete, a plastic table cover, citronella candles, bug spray. We always took enough wood from home for camp and cooking fires and only rarely used the camping stove. This is the stuff that helped build our boys. And the stuff that uncounted memories are made of.

Like the time we camped at the lagoon and built a shelter out of driftwood and everything was all good until Middle Son took a fishhook in the cheek. Or the time we named a favorite spot the P.O.S.H. place (poison oak swimming hole) as we were applying Calamine at home. Or the time #1 Son, then 13, drove our stick-shift all the way home because Hubby hurt his back and couldn't move, I wasn't there, and they didn't have a phone. Or the time we watched the twin baby bears who'd been kicked out early by mama silently sneak into our camp and take all the paper plates into the woods to shred. What a mess that was! Or the time our old Shepherd ran ahead in the trail and killed a rattlesnake, saving Youngest Son from a nasty bite. Those were hairy times, but they're also some of the times the boys talk about most. There were also good times. Great times.

Like the time the two older boys learned to build fires safely and we had six campfires that night - each with leaves and needles carefully swept away and a ring of rocks. Building and racing pontoon boats made of found soda bottles, fishing line, and sticks. Holding big rocks as we walked into the river so we could stay on the bottom and watch the fish awhile before dropping them and heading up to the surface. Our Samoyed/Retriever towing us  across the river with her tail so we (and she!) could dive off the rocks. Teaching friends to swim. Or the time Older Cousin came out of the dark woods with his sleeping bag around his shoulders and Younger Cousin leaped on BILs head (almost turban-like) screaming, "Bear, bear!"  :)    Body surfing the rapids. Bowling for elk in the mist with a box of apples (OK, rolling apples to the elk). Oldest boy playing GI Joe Commando and trying to sneak as close to us as he could before we said, "We can see you!" That time we camped at an oxbow in the river and caught the pollywogs with legs in the slow warm water. Cooking s'mores. Reading Indian in the Cupboard aloud by lantern light, swatting at moths and mosquitos, because we were so close to the end and couldn't put it down. Whittling with a pocket knife. Chopping at the wood pile with a hatchet. Playing cribbage until the flashlight batteries went out. Silently sitting around, poking the campfire with sticks. Counting falling stars and satellites.

Those were some of the best times. Even if nothing happened. No phones, TV, Playstation, XBox, or electronics of any kind. No distractions. Just a family hanging out. And I wouldn't trade all the mosquito bites, itchy patches of poison oak rash, or long nights on the hard ground for any amount of luxury hotel stays. Believe it. It's true.

I love you, boys.