I never grew up camping with my family. My parents exposed us to other forms of adventure the lake, beach, Disney, and a big trip to Mexico, where I got my bangs breaded with red, white, and blue beads. If I think of myself as a child, I was a bit of an oddball. I was messy, dirty, creative, and from what I remember, happy. To me, my adult self feels distant from that free spirit. Perhaps it’s the result of adulthood, parenthood, or marriage, or maybe I am the real me now and wasn’t when I was younger; who knows. I guess the self is constantly evolving. I have seen glimmers of childhood me come back to life since moving to Oregon. Living in NYC for 13 years really can make you forget about how beautiful trees can be or nature altogether. Don’t get me wrong; I am a glamper at best. My entire family squishes together in one tent while I sleep on a cot more comfortable than my mattress at home, and we never skimp in the food department. On this last trip, Tyler grilled us elk burgers with salad and brought heart beans and a pour-over for the morning. The temps were perfect, and the kids had an amazing time swinging on Andrew’s hammock, kayaking, fishing, and throwing sticks in the fire. It was Amo’s first trip. He was great, but he will not be invited back until he doesn’t drink milk every 3 hours and can change his own diaper:)
Camping grounds you: the dirt, the silence, the fire, and the sky. Unloading all of your life’s possessions for 12 hours just in time to need to reload ha. I am excited for our family to have access to so many great adventures together.
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