Last summer my dear friend, Vivienne from The V Spot Blog, posted a fantastic series on camping that almost made me want to go camping. Almost I said. Friends, I am not a camper. But Viv has a unique way of making camping seem do-able, easy, and (gulp!) fun. I asked if we could publish her series here for all of you to see her great traditions and ideas that make her camping trips so enjoyable.
So join us each day this week as we feature Miss Viv aka MacGuyver – and make sure to visit her blog – she posts the most amazing ideas for affordable crafts (see how many times she can spray paint her chandelier for different seasonal decorations), cleaning your oven, and various survival kits. She is my go-to gal and has a solution for everything!
Camping? Ew. No thank you.
I don’t do dirt.
I don’t pee in the woods.
I won’t eat beans out of a can.
Yeah? Neither do I.
My family and I were on our annual camping trip last week. Some of the comments that came my way before we left were a bit on the negative side. I wasn’t offended by any means. I just realized that there must be a segment of the population that doesn’t know the proper way to camp.
In other words, if you don’t like to go camping… yer doin’ it wrong.
Now I readily admit (and take into consideration) that my affinity for camping is rather specific. I’m an alpine kind of girl. I don’t do desert camping. I can’t take the heat (or extreme cold). I need trees. (Also, we don’t ride motorcycles or ATVs, so there really isn’t much for us to do in the desert.)
I first camped in Markleeville (Grover Hot Springs) in 1969, when I was 2 years old. My family has been going even longer than that.
Markleeville is very personal to me.
It is a beloved tradition; a comfortable pair of shoes.
It is a favorite relative you only get to see once a year.
It is beautiful and special.
It is 500 miles away, yet somehow it feels like home.
While my tale is Markleeville specific, planning, implementation and style are befitting of camping anywhere.
Some of you may have seen the “500 miles away” and done the math in your head… yes that is about a 10 hour car ride. Each way. However, the journey is part of the vacation and should be treated as such. I am fortunate enough to be married to a man who starts his vacation time the minute he locks the door to his office. Attitudes are laid back and we try to roll with it whenever possible. (I am a twisty, anal retentive control freak, so being laid back does not come naturally for me, but I am working on it.)
Once the cargo trailer is packed and we’re ready to go, the traditions begin. We’re big on tradition. Much like Christmas Eve, we all go to bed, but I think the kids may have trouble getting to sleep. (Sometimes I do too…) Up at 3:30 and on the road (hopefully) by 4:00 a.m. This year we got on the road by 4:20 and we considered it a smooth departure.
Music uploaded to the iPod has taken the place of CDs, just like CDs took the place of cassette and (gasp!) 8-track tapes before them. (You whipper-snappers who don’t know what an 8-track tape is, go ask your parents.)
(No, these are not mine….. shut up, shut up.)
We have Markleeville road trip music: Tom Petty, Fleetwood Mac, the Eagles, Blondie… bands and artists I remember my older cousins listening to on our camping trips. They are all on heavy rotation on our driving play list.
About hour 3 we are hitting the low desert. If you have never listened to U2’s Joshua Tree album while the sun rises over Joshua trees in the Mojave Desert, you are missing out.
We eat McDonald’s one time a year.
In Lone Pine, California.
Lone Pine is the little town at the base of Mt. Whitney, which is the tallest peak in the continental USA.
(Over 14,000 feet, if you care about that stuff.)
In addition to having a traditional breakfast stop, it is very important to have the proper junk food to take on the road.
This year, Handsome Hubby decided we should also stop at the Hot Creek Fish Hatchery. A quarter buys a handful of little pellets the trout like to eat and they swarm all over it like koi. The boys loved it. If we do it again next year, it will qualify as a tradition.
They only way I am ever in a photograph.
We travel Highway 395 and pass by Crowley Lake, Mammoth Mountain, June Lake, Mono Lake and Lake Topaz. We drive through picturesque towns and wonder about people who build Dream Homes with a view of the highway.
We use the time to talk to each other. To sing along with music. To eat crap we normally don’t eat and drink beverages we normally don’t drink. We use the time to talk about what we’ll do during the week and what we’ll do right after we set up camp.
We use the 10 hours in the car to try to and enjoy each other as a family. Of course it doesn’t always turn out that way. Of course there are boys fighting over the last root beer or whose turn it is to play which GameBoy. (Oh yeah, did I mention? No DVD player…) Of course we get uncomfortable and antsy. Of course I am a back seat driver and HH and I have moments when we’re sniping at each other. But it is still 10 hours of family time and the good always outweighs the bad.
I love the Meadow. As a child, it was the most exciting moment of my trip. It meant we were finally there! This year, as we pulled into the campground and drove by, I excitedly squealed, “Hi Meadow!!!”
Handsome Hubby lowered his voiced and out of the side of his mouth, ventriloquist style said, “Hello, Vivienne.”
I love that guy.
Stay tuned for Part 2!