An Ode to Camping

Frying eggs at Mason Park (Dave, Steve, Peter L., ca. 1950)  [VAL photo]

Dear George,

I don’t devote all my spare time to camping, but it is one of my more enjoyable activities these days.  It’s difficult to cajole Katja (who’s a Philadelphia urbanite) into sleeping in a tent, so I bring along the sheepdogs instead.  My affinity for camping results, of course, from growing up in the Upper Peninsula.  We lived on the river out in the country, so the forest was an important part of our everyday lives.  Mason Park was a mile or two up the road on Riverside Boulevard, and, by age 13, it was my favorite spot for overnight outings.  By today’s standards it was meagerly developed as a park.  There was one outhouse and rings of rocks where you could build campfires, but I don’t think it even had tables for its half dozen campsites.  On other occasions my brother Steven and I would get in the rowboat and head off to Pig Island across the river or to Indian Island a mile upstream.  We’d pick a spot along the shore, clear some ground to pitch our tent, build a fire pit, make kitchen equipment out of tree branches, dig a latrine off in the distance, and boil river water to drink.  Camping meant freedom – getting away from home and parents – self-sufficiency, and adventure.  I was taken at the time with Henry Thoreau’s Walden and the story of Robinson Crusoe.  It still amazes me that one can go into the forest with a minimum amount of equipment and create a complete homestead that meets all one’s life needs.  These days I go car camping at area parks, and it’s a more civilized venture.  Nonetheless, camping out still has the benefits of a break with one’s everyday environment and a vacation out in nature.  Our sheepdogs, Mike and Duffy, aren’t that thrilled about it though.  They’re drawn to familiar surroundings, and I suspect they prefer the luxuries of life in our household.  But they’re good comrades nonetheless.  On a recent trip I started writing short poems to celebrate various “icons” of camping.  Here’s what I wound up with.

Love,

Dave

The Forest

The forest is ripe with mystery

It teems with invisible life

A chunk of my childhood history

A refuge from tedium and strife

The Campground

A campground is like a small city

Its residents come and they go

The surroundings are wildly pretty

On Tuesdays I imagine I’m Thoreau

The Lake

I try to camp right next to the lake

It's a kaleidoscopic view

I glance out the window when I awake

The water with its mist, the cattails with dew

The Sheepdogs

As campers the sheepdogs are eighty percent good

They’re loving and patient and true

I wouldn’t say that they relish the wood

But they’re clearly a part of the crew

The Tent

My favorite tent is blue and white

I can set it up in a breeze

It keeps us safe from goblins at night

Not to mention mosquitoes and bees

The Deer

The deer watch us anxiously from afar

They’re uncertain whether to run

The sheepdogs view them as quite bizarre

Would chasing them be lots of fun?

The Camp Stove

My Coleman stove’s an amazing thing

One match and it heats in a flash

I find no matter what food I bring

It always tastes like burnt hash

The Hatchet

The hatchet, you know, is a dangerous tool

You can slice off your fingers or toes

Safety first is the golden rule

That's something that every Scout knows

The Sunset

Sunset’s the grandest time of day

The sky blazes yellow and red

The second the daylight goes away

The dogs think it’s time for bed

The Campfire

I light the fire as night descends

I’m hypnotized by the flames

Nostalgic memories of family and friends

I puzzle over life's murky aims

The Night

Camping's eeriest time is at night

We listen to sounds in the dark

I do my best to suppress my fright

Are those wolves that I hear in the park?

The Air Mattress

My air mattress seems as firm as can be

It helps me go right to sleep

But at two in the morning or maybe three

I’m flat on the ground in a heap

The Lantern

My lantern lights up the campsite

It turns the black night into day

The mantel is such a blazing white

It keeps squishy creatures at bay

The Flashlight

I keep my flashlight right next to my bed

It’s there when I wake in the night

If unknown sounds overwhelm me with dread

I flick on my light and all’s right

The Knife

My Swiss Army knife’s such a clever device

With its scissors and a sharp leather punch

It cost a lot but it’s worth the price

Without it we’d be a sad bunch

The Trail

You never know where the trail will lead

You might see an eagle or deer

I tend to walk at a moderate speed

And the dogs like to bring up the rear

Postscript

Camping takes me back in space and time

To a world that’s unlike any other

Some days I imagine I’m in my prime

Still I wish I were back with my brother