Tag: poetry

As July kicks off and I continue to sort through old photographs and newer ones, I’m thinking of travel and vacations this month – reflecting on the experiences on the road, on campgrounds, and on educational conferences where we’ve extended the business to include personal travel as well. The earliest traveling I remember is going to camp and fish at Fernandina Beach, Florida with my parents and my mother’s parents. Granddaddy would put the truck camper on and pull the boat, and my parents would pitch a tent while I crawled into the camper with my grandparents. Early each morning, we’d put the boat in and go out fishing. I would crawl up under the front of the boat and nap on the life jackets and a blanket to get out of the heat. During fishing time, I worked the live well by catching bait with a net and taking it to whoever needed a replacement.

We took the boat out of the water each afternoon. We’d scale fish, fillet them, and cook some for dinner and still put plenty away in coolers to take back to Georgia. The sulfury-smelling showers in those campground bathrooms smelled like rotten eggs, but the memories they bring back are pure joy. We roasted marshmallows after supper, and I’d sleep above the cab with the windows open for the cross-breeze while the adults sat up by the fire well into the night.

I’m pretty sure that’s where the love of camping started for me. When I had my own children who loved to barrel race, we’d load the family and horses up along with my then-husband’s parents, and we’d pitch a tent by their horse trailer for small-camp rodeos. Our favorite was Buffalo River in Tennessee, where we camped right next to a river. The kids rode horses and did racing during the days, and the campground had a live band with two-step and line dancing each night, plus a cafeteria so we didn’t have to cook all the time. It was the first and only time I ever tasted rattlesnake from a trail ride where someone shot one to protect the horses, then brought it back to camp and grilled it up in slices. In those days, we were tent campers.

Soon, we graduated to a pop-up that we bought for next to nothing because the top was dry rotting and coming apart. I burned up a sewing machine stitching the repairs, but it was worth it because it lasted several years before we sold it and got a pull-behind camper with Florida windows and old tires that needed replacing right away. We used it for years while the kids were growing up, and we did the same things: swam, fished, cooked fireside, and played cards all evening.

Fast forward to my second marriage, and out of the blue one day my husband decided we should take up camping. I didn’t think he would like it since he likes to go out to eat dinner so much of the time and has a hard time sitting still. But we started looking for campers, bought a used Keystone Outback, and took it for a spin. And surprise of all surprises, he actually enjoyed it. We kept it for a few years and sold it, then bought a Little Guy Max teardrop camper that we kept for a couple of years and sold. Then we got another pull-behind – an InTech Willow, and kept it for a year before deciding to go with an RV. This time, we traded it in and got a Tiffin Wayfarer that both of us are able to drive and maneuver with setup and takedown, along with a good warranty. I can even dump the thing. I wanted to always be able for both of us to have the skill set to get us home if one of us takes a fall or doesn’t feel well enough to drive. At our ages, that becomes an important consideration when out on the road.

As I trace the love of camping back to the earliest days of my life, I believe those seeds were planted deep and bloomed and thrived. And it doesn’t matter whether it’s summer, spring, fall, or winter – – I’m always ready to back into a space, fire up the grill, and sit by a campfire, rooted in relaxation. Early morning coffee under trees filled with birdsong and the peaceful solitude of nature never, ever get old.

Kindling the Flame