Looking at the date makes me feel a little blue. Summer half over. Boo, boo and boo. We don’t start school this year though until
August 25th, so that means we have almost the whole month of August,
which is really, really nice.
When I first started this blog, my dad sent me some pictures
of my family camping in the early years.
I really did get my love of camping honestly. My mom told me that when I was just a baby
and we were living in Massachusetts she and Dad would take us girls to the
coast somewhere in Maine or New York and we’d camp. Dad would drop off Mom and get everyone all
set up, then he would go back home to work.
Sometimes he’d commute nightly and sometimes he’d just come on the
weekends. Sound familiar?
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| What a doll!! Check out those socks. I never look that cute camping. |
I have a few very early memories of camping. One trip was on the Oregon coast. The reason this one stands out is because on
our last day there, Mom was cleaning up and packing up and Dad took one last
walk down to the beach and invited me to go with him. I was clean and dry and Mom told me to make
sure I stayed that way. Of course as
soon as we got to the beach, being a little girl and all, the water started
calling. I asked Dad if I could wade, so
he rolled up my pants and I started wading.
Before you knew it I was waist deep.
I’m guessing that Dad and I both got a good scolding for that one.
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| Mom and little naked girl - oh, I mean, me. |
Another memory is when we lived in Burley, Idaho we went
camping to some sand dunes not too far away.
I remember climbing up those huge dunes and rolling down, sand getting
everywhere. I also remember lying in my
sleeping bag and hearing coyotes howling at night. One night in the middle of the night, my Dad
got up and went out for something.
Apparently, he left the tent unzipped.
The coyotes started howling and our dog Bruiser, jumped up and headed
for the door. Well, my mom felt almost
the same way about Bruiser that I feel about Tye and she was having none of
it. She says she flew out of her
sleeping bag and literally tackled him as he was heading out the door.
I also remember camping at Bear Lake. We met our family friend Carl Taylor there
and we sat around the campfire and he told us the scariest ghost stories. Then, of course, it was time to make that dreaded
last trip to the bathroom before bed.
Without fail, every time us girls would go, on the way back, Dad would
be hiding somewhere along the way to jump out and scare the bejeesus out of
us. This trip was no different, except
this time it was him, Carl Taylor, and a white sheet. You can use your imagination for that one.
Once we moved to Texas when I was in the Fifth Grade, I
don’t remember much camping, but I do remember camping at Virginia Beach a
couple of times once we moved to Louisa, Virginia, always in that same old
canvas tent that you see in those earliest pictures with my mom.
When my parents moved here to Utah, they sold that tent (or
perhaps gave it away), which by that time was mildewed and quite the mess. That was a sad day for my Dad though and if I
know him he still laments about the sale of that tent, even today.
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