Camping

Many of my favorite memories involved an old orange Dodge Truck and a camper.  I remember many Fridays when Dad would get home early from work and would put the camper on the back of the truck.  We would clean out the camper and pack it with wood, food, coolers, bedding and folding chairs for a night or weekend camping trip. Mom and Dad would sit on the front bench, usually with Scott in between them.  Tiffany, Melinda and I would sit in the "Club Cab" portion, with two of us sitting in the fancy fold down seats (which Dad pulled out of another truck at a junk yard) and one lucky person sitting on a small folding lawn chair. Dad would drive off to some place he had heard about, while Mom read to us from her pile of newspapers that she always brought or directed us in playing the "Un-Game".

Dad's choice of camping site was always out of the way and beautiful.  We drove up the canyon on some of the most tortuous roads I have ever seen.  Sometimes I wondered if Dad selected our camping site purely based on how difficult and scary the road would be.  As we drove up the mountain, I would always try to be on the side of the truck that was farthest from the edge. Those instances convinced me that Norwegians were half mountain goat and half troll, and that the combination of the two gave an uncanny ability to drive on   "roads". Having said that, the sites Dad got us to were always amazing places.

Upon arriving at the site, Mom and Dad would have us start setting up camp.  I remember fishing one time and cooking the fish with Dad on the camp stove.  Sometimes we would cook inside the camper, especially if it was really cold (I remember camping into October, frequently on the UEA weekend).  I remember sitting inside the camper, around the little table and looking at the map and being fascinated with all the states and places that we had not yet seen.  I remember looking at that map on a trip to the Grand Canyon, and feeling extreme pride that we could check off one of those wonderful places.

Mom would always sing as we sat around the fire.  Her song "I know a place where no one ever goes" always come to mind when I camp and sit around a campfire.  I loved hearing her voice.  Dad didn't do a whole lot of singing, but I remember listening to his stories about being a young boy on Leka.

I remember waking up after a night of sleeping in the camper.  Dad, Scott and I would share the bottom bed, made from cushions and table.  I would always get the spot under the cabinet next to the window.  Upon waking up I would hit my head on the nails.  Did anyone else know there were nails there?  I did.I would awake and knock my head on them, and then stare out the window until Dad would wake.  Mom and the girls would sleep on the top bunk.  I was always very jealous of that spot.  I thought it was so cool that there was an elevated bed.  I remember one camping trip where we had all got up on the top bunk.  I opened the ceiling hatch and looked out to see a number of Elk in a dew and fog covered meadow. It was amazing.

My final memory has to do with a large brown garbage can.  Mom would boil the water on the stove, and fill the can with it.  It was like a little hot tub.  Each one of us would take a bath in that thing.  I was ecstatic when we got the new larger tub and replaced the little white bucket that we had previously used. I think I was the cause for abandoning the smaller bucket. The last time that I used it I got my back end stuck.  I am afraid that somewhere, Mom has a picture of that event.

Anyway, these are some of my memories of camping. It was lots of fun, and is something that I still like to do.  Every time that our family goes camping, I think back to my experiences as a child, and think about the experiences that my own children are now having.  Thanks for doing that with us, Mom and Dad.