We've not gone camping in several years now. We use to go quiet frequently when my daughter was younger, now she seems to fondly remember those adventureous get-a-ways. I enjoy the rustic feel of primitive camping, with the pop up tents, coffee on an open flame, hikes through a wooded area, and the cooing of morning birds. It's a much different experience far removed from the hurry up and wait, screaming to move along, and over crowdedness of the military field trainings back in my Fort Hood days. So me and the 'ol wife will venture out to some local State Park for a few days and strive to reconnect with nature and each other - a much need time away on both accounts. . .
That picture makes me want to go camping again! I miss doing that so very much. I hope you had/have a great time!
ReplyDeleteYou bring back memories to me!! I use to camp in Illinois and Wisconsin... Once I went camping at the end of fall. It was freezing... but I had a wonderful time in the tent with my then gf!
ReplyDeleteCamping in the states is comfortable, but not here in Malaysia.... the forest undergrowth too thick and wet.... with leeches....
ouch, leeches.
ReplyDeletecamping has a great way of just slowing down the whirl of the planet, and letting life breath a little easier.
My dad used to take my sis and me camping during the summer. One year, we spent a week hiking the West Virginia section of the Applachian Trail. I remember horse flies buzzing in my hair and biting my neck; leeches that tried to suck the blood out of my feet from that creek in Newport; ticks that attacked us in a field we hiked through (Marge picked 86 of those buggers off of her); the lack of modcons, toys, and TV; and enough trail mix to choke an army of capuchin monkeys. On a cross-country trip to [somewhere] one summer, we stopped at a KOA campgound for the night. My dad and stepmum had graciously given my sis and me the tent, while they bunked in the truck. During the night, a black bear wandered into our campsite. My sister and I were petrified. Next morning, we discovered the black bear was really Dad playing a prank. At the Grand Canyon, the ravens would fly through and filch what they could from our campsite. I remember looking up one day and seeing a coupla them flying by with stolen goods in their beaks. They were quite fearless. Yeah, those summer camping trips with my dad really cured me of any possible love for camping.
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