Granted, there are different types of camping. The men in my family spend most of the year planning a giant camping trip in the Montana mountains every summer. They talk about what food they'll cook. They discuss rainfall and river levels and how that bodes for fishing. They make lists, multiple trips to the store, and then spend an entire day packing and repacking several trucks full of supplies. Everything is hauled out of basements and attics- sleeping bags and tents and bungee cords and lanterns and tin plates and silverware and bug spray and tarps and ponchos and fishing vests and hatchets and... They even take an espresso maker and a lawn chair with a toilet seat built into it. I don't really understand the allure of dragging half of what you own out into the woods to enjoy without a shower, but they seem to love it.
The kind of camping Tim prefers is the kind he did this weekend. Just two guys facing the bitter elements of North Texas with nothing other than a couple of packs, a tent, and a small cooler full of essentials. They roasted hot dogs wrapped in bacon. Must be a guy thing.
The guys were only gone for 24 hours, so I stayed home and hung out with Ben.
Camping?
How do I feel about camping?
Pretty much the same way Jim Gaffigan does. The one and only panic attack I've ever had happened while I was camping. That was the night I realized I may suffer from a smidgen of claustrophobia. Note: a "2-Man Tent" does NOT comfortably fit two average sized people. And don't even get me started on being the person sleeping farthest away from the zipper. It was like sleeping in a coffin. I could hyperventilate just thinking about it.
In short...
1 comment:
Good thing I was cruising on your Facebook and found out you had this blog. I absolutely love it, and am addicting to reading these! You're such a talented writer and I know this will be such a great reflection to look back on through the years. So cool Meagan! :)
Love, Angela
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