Camping Chronicles

Yes, we camped for three days in the dirt.  It was dirty.  But there was a gorgeous creek.  It was freezing… well, not actually freezing with ice chunks and all, but REALLY cold.  There was sunshine the whole time… except for the clouds, which we welcomed with glad hearts… a break from the heat of the day.  This may sound a bit like whining, but we actually had a great time laughing and laughing and laughing. 

Three camp chairs, of antiquated status, were put to rest as the bearer of weight went crashing to the dusty ground.  It was comical all three times… and I was even one of them.  Currently, I’m sitting on the front of my chair for the time being.  A bit of a bruised backside.

A highlight, or lowlight as the case may be, was my son losing his retainer.  He plucked the clear plastic guard from his upper jaw right in front of my eyeballs… he was standing in between the fire pit and the picnic table.  He had a banana in the other hand.  The scene was burned into my brain. But what he did next with the clear plastic retainer remained a mystery.  He didn’t let me know that it was missing until nighttime.  Yes, we lit lanterns and donned flashlights searching for the plastic gem… to no avail.  I dreaded the phone call to let his ortho-paying father in on the news.

The next day, he and I carefully dug through the entire trash bag… removing each and every piece to a new trash bag. It was disgusting.  Really.  Half way through the bag, he told me, “If it is in here, I’m not sure I’m going to want to put it back in my mouth… ever.” We also tore apart the boy’s tent… piece by smelly piece. Nada.

An hour later, I was envisioning his teeth moving back to their previous locations… and knew we would need to get a new retainer Thursday morning right after we arrived home.  I didn’t have the ortho phone number in my cell, so I put on my brave face and called my husband.  He was not impressed with my tale of woe.   As it happened, he was in a different state, waiting for his passengers to fly home… and the ortho number was not in his phone either.  As we made small talk I was slowly wandering around one end of the campground AND I FOUND IT!  Yes, that clear plastic gem was lying in the weeds next to the clothesline.  I screamed and yelled in my joy.  Rick didn’t understand a word I said on the phone.  Eventually we all rejoiced.  The retainer was “washed” (term used completely loosely) and installed back in its rightful place…. however a bit more snug than usual after the 12 hour absence.

See, camping went jes fine.

“There is no Camping in Colombia!”

Words from my daughter’s mouth upon learning what camping is all about.  Yes, we are breaking her into the American way of life slow and easy…. camping for only three days… only two hours from home. 

The boys set up the tents in the backyard to make sure all the poles and flies were accounted for.  Nora was very impressed with the tents… until she started asking questions about them.  “Where is la house you set them up?”  Well, we set them up outside.  Eyes huge…”On la grass?”  Yes.  “What about monstruos?” (monsters)  I explain that there is no such thing as a monster. “Austin ask me there is monstruos.” (She uses “ask” for tell, say, ask, speak.)  I glare at Austin for terrifying his little sister.  I might have to scare the living daylights out of him on this trip.

Nora was not too sure about this whole adventure, so she followed me to the garage when I went to gather camping gear.  I pulled out the cooking apparatus and she was glad we would eat like civilized people on dishes with utensils.  When she saw the sleeping bags she asked, “Where is la bed for la bag?” Well, the bag IS your bed. “WHAT? You lay on la ground?” Yes, (well, mommy has an air mattress, but YOU lie on the ground.)

Then I pulled out the bag of muddy, sandy and dirty water shoes.  Our entire family, minus Nora, have a similar shoe size within 2 sizes, so our water shoes are first come-first serve.  I mentioned that we need to buy some water shoes for Nora.  Of course this brought on more questions.  “Why no wear my pink shoes?” (flip flops) Because they fall off and float down the river.  “Why shoes water not float down river?” They stay on your feet and protect your feet.  “From fish that bite, yes?”  No.  There are no fish that bite (at least I don’t think there are….) 

We got in the car to go out and Nora was ALL over getting water shoes…. “Now we go Walmart for Nora’s shoes water?”  No, we will get them tomorrow.  “Tomorrow is far away?”  No.  One more sleep.  “I want go to bed ocho not seven.”  (This is an ongoing statement as she thinks she should get to stay up until eight.)  Sigh.

We leave on Monday for Beaver Creek Campground…. I’m sure I’ll have some tales to tell come Wednesday night!  Hopefully they won’t include me not sleeping a wink because the little girl in my tent is eternally waiting up for monstruos!  AUSTIN!

Extreme Camp Host… Chuck

Yesterday I blogged about the glorious side of our camping experience in Northern Arizona…. well, I purposely left out the Chuck information because I knew his story would require an entire blog entry.  I’m kicking myself that we did not think to gather photo evidence of Chuck’s shenanigans for this unbiased report.

How many campers can you count??

Chuck’s Info: Married; in the vicinity of 70 years old; Army-shaved-regulation hair cut; blue eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses; no smile; stern; fit; slight build; wears various National Camping Association issued tan shirts, shorts and hats which he changes intermittently throughout the day; Camp Host at Wet Beaver Creek; lives in a motor home; watches Who Wants to Be a Millionaire every day; drives a white golf cart counter-clockwise around the campground with various cleaning supplies standing neatly in the back; keeps an impeccably clean campground; is DILIGENT at enforcing the rules of the National Camping Association….. Extremely Diligent!

We were not in the 13-site campground more than three minutes when we encountered Chuck and already had one infraction against us.  We talked to another camper.  That is not acceptable, as we found out.  (???)  We did arrive under unusual circumstances…. one wife, one husband, both married to other people who would be arriving later, two boys and a 35-year-old male friend….. with a truck and trailer full of enough camping paraphernalia to survive at least 27 days without human contact.  We were in the midst of choosing two campsites when Chuck descended on us… seems we inadvertently drove past his site without stopping to introduce ourselves.  We mentioned, mistakenly, that the kind camper lady across the road had informed us that she was leaving by 4:00 and we could have her adjacent campsite.  Heaven forbid!  That was a BIG no-no.  No talking to other campers!  Might cause a revolt????

We were then told that we could not occupy two sites without two vehicles…. what? Then the story changed…. was he trying to intimidate us??? Chuck informed us that we needed to indeed have all of our camping gear for both sites in our possession in order to claim and pay for two sites.  We explained that we did… minus the second vehicle.  (See the HUGE trailer FULL of camping gear?)  We were then read rule number 353.7 from the Nat’l Camping Association handbook page 27 that there were only to be eight people maximum at each campsite and there were no exceptions.  We kindly explained that we would have five unique individuals at campsite #11 and seven unique individuals at campsite #10.  He assumed we were trying to pull one over on him.  We look so devious!  Good grief!  How did he treat hippy looking, pot-smoking, tattooed, keg toting, loud music blaring reprobates?

Throughout our three days under Chuck’s care, we observed that we could set our clocks by his daily habits… 5 am bathroom hose-down…7 am routine walking tour inspection…9 am routine riding in the golf cart inspection and refilling of toilet paper… (all of this leading up to the all important….) 1 pm MANDATORY check-out time for overnighters.  This was quickly followed by a walking inspection of each vacated site and the necessary raking and emptying of ash from the fire pit.  It was all so predictable, yet comical.  He routinely stopped and counted people in each site, reported high winds and no-fire warnings, and was fastidiously aware of every move made in Wet Beaver Creek… especially if non-paying day users accidentally wandered through the campground to access the creek.  Oh boy!  That was a no-no. (page 35 in the NCA handbook)

Each of us adults made it a point to make contact with Chuck for the purpose of gathering information for this report.  We conspired to have him divulge nazi involvement or at least a military career.  Nope, seems he owned gas stations, has a pace maker, wife had a heart attack two years ago but is OK now, lives in Mesa, has been camp hosting for seven years all over the nation, was retired for ten years before camp hosting and is at Wet Beaver Creek for three more months. If you go, you can’t miss him…. or more like it, he won’t miss seeing you!

We decided that wherever Chuck is hosting we will stay.  It will be a clean and orderly campground, albeit the feeling of Big Brother did permeate the camp.