My sister and I rented a little cabin on Portage Lake for what was supposed to be a three day camping excursion with my friend Dan. I had overplanned to the point that I had assigned everyone a meal to cook, there was a daily agenda, and I had packed about 16 outfits–just in case. But part of camping, I learned, is absolutely giving up on all plans.
Or so I think. Honestly, I’m not too sure I even did camping right.
Over those three days, I had a lot of expectations. I was going to go horseback riding. I was going to go kayaking. I wanted to hit the trails. And I was going to read a book.
None of this actually happened.
The kayak renting station only had two kayaks, and there were three in our party. We gave up on kayaking and waded in the lake instead, picking up rocks that were particularly interesting (which we, ever responsible, left behind at the beach). The stables had a kids camp going on and didn’t really have any availability for us. Some of us were used to long hikes, and some of us weren’t, so we didn’t do much hiking.
What I mostly did was sit around a campfire. Some of that campfire time was cooking–any meal done over an open fire takes so much longer to cook, I have a much better understanding of why women of the not so distant past spent all day every day in the kitchen–but most of it was just talking and playing on our phones in companionable silence. This meant I kept checking my work e-mail, which led to no small amount of gentle joshing from my camping companions.
Sitting around a campfire was kind of nice, even if it meant I had a compulsion to check my work e-mail…until it started raining and we were forced indoors.
On our last soggy day camping, we got the fire going. It was smokey from the wood that had gotten soaked in the night’s downpour. Dan, who was leaving earlier, once again went over how to put a fire out. We made some eggs and fried up an entire package of bacon for an ad hoc breakfast. Emily named the fire Calcifer and we fed it eggshells as we waited for the food to cook. The campground had cleared out before that first downpour–no one really likes camping in the rain–and besides us in our little red cabin there was only a group of motorcyclists who had arrived late that night and were packing up to leave already.
Once Dan left, the fire became my responsibility. We packed up the car and cleaned the cabin, checking on the fire as it burned down to embers. As we did so, I noticed that the bikers had left, their fire still going. So I went and took care of their fire, too, until both fire pits were cool to the touch.
That last task completed, Emily and I ventured back to civilization. Emily was already making plans for the next trip we would do, and where we might go.
(“Somewhere with things to do,” I said, “like Kensington.”)
(“I like Waterloo,” she defended herself, “it’s close to my house.”)
I don’t know if we did camping right. My favorite parts of my camping trip were, quite honestly, when we headed off to civilization to do shopping (especially when I managed to find some presents for the MUWC tutors!). My favorite meal was not cooked over a campfire, but eaten at a Marco’s Pizza on the night it rained. None of this matches my preconceived idea of what a camping trip is supposed to be. To be honest, I don’t really even feel as if I truly went camping; it felt like my normal life, except with more bug bites and smoke.
I’m off to the drawing board again, planning plans that may or may not come to pass. If the lesson I was supposed to learn through camping was to let life happen, I’ve rejected that; I’ve just learned how to plan more accurately.
But Emily and I are sure there will be a next time.
So the possibility of camping remains.