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Camping Tales

Note: this is what I scribbled down on Saturday on a random sheet of paper. It still took ten minutes, and my computer was at home while I was camping. So here goes:

I'm listening to beer-fueled karaoke erupting from the campsite across from us.

We're camping. It's a crowded weekend. Most people are fairly quiet and calm.

Not this crowd. Somehow, we chose just the right spot across from this group of revelers, and it is a perfect place to enjoy drunks who are trying very hard to sing their little songs. Sometimes they reach the right pitch; sometimes they have good timing; rarely is either quality together.

The DNR has already been by to tell them to pipe down a notch.

By the way, the DNR is the highest police force in our state. Those green-suited guys on Gators? Don't mess with them--or make Smokey mad.

Even though the campground is crowded, I'm loving being around so many people. They are a happy bunch. People enjoying the outdoors, playing football and catch, couples and groups walking and often with dogs, countless people on bikes and scooters, kids crawling all over the playground, families gathered around campfires telling stories and joking.

It just feels good to be around happy people.

I loved seeing the serious campers here--those are the one with a full home-away-from-home set-up, complete with the doilies on the camp chairs.

Now on to today's writing:

Still on the camping theme, I'm amazed at the variety in RVs and tents. Our friends had Taj Mahal tents; we had a little pup tent from an Aldi special. Both work.

For some of the RVs, I could buy 5 of my house and still not reach the purchase price. Other RVs are the cute honeymooner type for minimalists. And still other RVs are still going from the '60s.

I saw one today from the '60s or early '70s that would have been a great renovation project for someone inclined so and with the unlimited funds that headache--I mean, project--requires.

Camping means a constant campfire, and we had one thanks to Kris's splitting a bunch of firewood from the dead ash trees we had.

The level of cleanliness falls, too, the longer I camp. Where I wouldn't dream of putting my dish on a bare picnic table at the start of camping, by the end, I just don't care anymore.

Fork fell in the dirt? Wipe it on your pants. It'll be good.

One of our campsites

We all packed up today, and it was a little sad to see the empty camping lot. We were ready to sleep in our own beds again, but not to leave the tranquility of the weekend. Even the beer karaoke by people who almost could sing was part of the fun.

I suggested we break out in opera to balance out some of the genres we were hearing. We never did, but I keep hearing Cats in my head.

Part of the weekend included taking all the littles, plus one junior mom (Kara, that is), to the playground to give my friend and her older daughters a break from the constant watchfulness that is required wiff wittle kids.

Later with undies and shoes full of sand, we walked back to the campsite and looked up and around at the trees: oaks, maples, beech, sycamore, others I don't know...

Butterfly trees

We found butterfly trees. At least that's what my friend's 4-year-old called them. The leaves fluttered up high in the sky just like butterfly wings. All the other trees had fairly still leaves, but the slightest breeze would stir up the butterfly trees.

I love the cute terms kids come up with.

We're looking forward to camping next year. Warm days and cool nights seem like a great combination, and we're making lists of dates and the necessary junk to take.

For this week, though, I'll be washing all the blankets. Everything smells like a campground, and we used about every blanket we had for our nights in the 30s. Just a bit frosty there.

It'll be nice to feel noses and toeses tonight while we sleep.


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