Sandy Supposes....

Let's Camp

PROMPT March 24th

Write about some of your most memorable vacations. Where did you go? Who were you with? What was your favorite part of the trip?

         Family trips, specifically camping excursions are most memorable. Nothing else promotes togetherness quite like it. When I was a youngster, my parents, three siblings and I, plus two dogs first attempted camping in a tent. I remember it resembled a circus thing of canvas all green and yellow stripes. In no way did it blend into the Northern Ontario forest campsite and I'm sure the local wildlife viewed it as a pop-up food source. Many a night, I heard foraging raccoons squabbling over our scraps.

         Striking a tent, especially a new one and therefore unknown is an exercise in patience. Specific metal poles must be coaxed through their respective slots. We learned that a tent has a front and a rear. Poles bend. Poles sway. The corners of the tent need to be pegged into the ground. There really should not be anything lumpy, or bumpy under the floor such as branches, or rocks. Dogs do not respect the no-walking across the tent while it's helpless upon the earth rule. The zipper is not a toy even though it's within reach on the flap.

          Waking up to our first official morning as campers in May, we discovered snow upon the ground. Of course, none of our clothing had been packed with the return of winter in mind. Crammed, I mean cuddled together in our temporary shelter, we had not noticed the temperature drop. It is known as roughing it.

         Starting a fire to cook breakfast proved difficult, but not impossible. I appreciated the toast created over a round metal ring and the minor burns were worth it.

         During that same weekend, one of our German Shepherds pestered an ornery skunk and desperately needed a bath. My father made an emergency foray into a nearby village to purchase cans of tomato juice which we used to douse the sorry dog. I fell asleep that night next to a damp, snoring canine who perfumed the air with eau de skunk and notes of pizza sauce.

         

         Hubby and I recreated this family fun with our own three children and two dogs. Ah, there's something nostalgic about the aroma of damp dogs and wood smoke. We shared our escapades and many campfires with friends.

         During one such getaway, my eldest slugged her friend across the head with a broken wooden baseball bat she found. No, it was not a deliberate attack. Valerie stepped behind Carrie just as she swung at the ball. Nothing is more chilling than hearing your eldest scream she's killed Valerie. Oh, blood certainly made it seem as if this girl had died. My hubby and her mother whisked Val to a country doctor who performed a miracle with sixty plus facial stitches. When she returned later that evening just in time for a fireworks display, poor Val resembled a prize fighter with dark purple bruises, swelling, an eye swollen shut, and the stark line of stitches tracked across her fair face.

         During another unforgettable weekend, my son, Christopher found himself trapped within a de-commissioned army tank. Yep, this campground proudly displayed an old metal tank upon a cement platform and kids would climb up inside to explore. My eldest alerted me to her brother's plight by simply telling me he was stuck. For some strange reason, I interpreted this to mean kids would not let him leave the tank. I soon discovered that no, he really and truly was stuck up inside.

         I had to prostrate myself and shimmy under the tank. I next had to climb up inside to see my son all bug-eyed and perspiring with his arm buried to his shoulder in what I perceived to be an exhaust port. Of course, I did not believe my eyes and I tried to extricate him with a tug, but, no, he was wedged tight.

         Within minutes we were joined in our cramped quarters by off duty volunteer firemen who'd also been camping nearby. They brought cooking oil and dish soap donated by fellow holidayers that only drenched us and did not free Chris.

         Our ears were assaulted by the echoing hammering of an impact gun attempting to cut its way into the one tank wall. Shoulder to shoulder with these take charge strangers, I suggested that we ask for a doctor to come and break my son's arm. Drastic, yes, but I wanted him freed.

         A doctor did squish in with us to sedate Chris and dislocate his arm. A relieved Chris was whisked away and I soon wriggled out. We were met by a huge cheering crowd, an ambulance with strobing lights, an immense fire truck, a couple of police cars also with flashing red and blue lights, and a distinct line of yellow 'Do Not Cross' tape.

         I was nudged to the open back doors of the ambulance and boosted up inside. Chris and I were slimy and dripping with sweat, grease, cooking oil, and soap, but we were out of that infernal tank.

         Whew! Camping is occasionally a wee bit nerve-wracking. During another campout, my youngest fell off a boat moored at a dock. We parents could not see her in the murky water and my hubby fell in, too. He'd leaned against a collapsible railing which is what we suspected Danielle did. On his downward plummet, he struck our daughter who was rising to the surface. The two of them were bundled up in blankets and placed before a roaring fire to recuperate.

         From this scare, we learned to expect anything and always pack extra gear. One jacket and one pair of shoes may not be enough. Be prepared. For us, this is an omen.

         Anyway, we survived to camp another day and we still camp as a family years later. We have more memories to create.