I just returned from my first “camping” trip. Yesterday morning, Mr. W was having breakfast on his balcony when the beauty of the weather and sunlight and the warm prior night compelled him to cancel our weekend plans with other people and go on an impromptu “camping” outing. Once he got that idea in his head, there was no stopping the momentum. Sleeping bags, tent material, various wares and gear were thrown from upstairs over the balustrade to the foyer. I was a bit bewildered, having no experience with camping and therefore having no mental prep, but he knew how to push the buttons. The promise of an outdoors fire where I’d be allowed to burn stuff for real put the grin on my face and with matching glints in our eyes, we set off “camping.”

The reason why “camping” is in quotes, is because I don’t think that having a portable dual-range gas stove, electrical outlets, running hot/cold water public restrooms and showers are really “roughing it.” But according to Mr. W, this is how “everybody who really camp” do it. Well, we could’ve been more spoiled, I thought, as Mr. W plugged an electrical pump into an outlet and inflated the air mattress. We could be in one of those RVs with the generators humming and the satellite dish propped up on the tripod in front of the portable kitchenette. We got back to nature by sleeping in a special-order tent that sets up right over the bed of his truck so that we’re not even touching the ground. We didn’t even have to catch small woodland creatures for skinning and roasting over a bonfire spit. No, we had hot chocolate and Marie Callendar’s canned soup that was simmered over the stove range. Basically, it was like setting up half your kitchen and living room outdoors and claiming you’re “camping” just cuz you’re out of the house. I did manage to keep him from putting a nice tablecloth over the wooden picnic table, however.

Okay, enough of my silly criticism about spoiled “campers.” The experience itself was fun. The stars were beautiful, the company can’t be beat, and I got to burn stuff in an open flame. I think Mr. W thought it was funny that he dumped ice into the fire pit, causing my waning fire to sizzle as we were packing up to leave this morning. That act of cruelty caused me to scurry around like a little squirrel gathering what pine cones I could find to run back to the fire and try to revive it. “Hurry, hurry!” he called after me. “It’s a race against time!” The firepit smoked and smoldered for a long time as the ice surrounding it melted. But later, while Mr. W had disappeared to use the public restroom, I was triumphant. By the time he got back, the flames were licking the ice and I was sitting there with a Napoleonic grin on my face. So of course he had to pour what water was left in the pot directly over the fire as he was putting away our portable kitchen. 🙁

It’s okay…he did what he had to to ensure that he could tear me away from the “camp.”