I am clearly in no shape to write glowingly or positively about camping, having come through a partial emergency root canal the afternoon we checked out from our campsite. The pain meds are certainly doing most of the talking, people. But let me say, toothache aside: I swear, everything you will read below is a true testament to the highs and lows of camping. And I should know, having not only survived a four-day toothache all whilst suffering through the rainy season that is our July camping weather here on P.E.I..
Camping. Oh the joy. Oh the bliss. Oh the pain and agony.
And oh, the memories we have stored away inside. Painful, searing memories that haunt us by night and jeer at us by day. Pushing me ever closer to happy pill prescriptions and mental health counselling each and every summer. Good times, I say.
Good times.
And I especially love camping in the rain. LOVE IT. I love when it downpours and the mud is running off in every direction. When the kids go for a bike ride and come back looking like a chocolate-chip cookie. That's putting it nicely. Gotta love the rainy camping days. Forcing otherwise respectable families to gather inside damp, grass-covered tents and humid, steamy campers so as to do what families in these circumstances do best.
Fight with one another.
But the best part -- my favourite thing of all. Hands down. It has got to be when a certain Someone got the bright idea, before the evening Rook game ever began and while the fighting was just starting to gain momentum and reach a feverish pitch. That certain Someone thought it would actually be FUN to play the "Let's Say Something Nice About Everyone Game" otherwise known as "What Absolute Foolishness Was I Thinking?"
And that was how the first evening ended. With Someone crying, Someone instigating the crying and still another Someone considering pulling their own eyebrow hair out (but whom instead opted to crawl to the back corner of the camper so as to pretend they were on a real vacation.) Because no one, AND I MEAN NO ONE, can think of anything nice to say when they are stuck inside a smelly, wet, steamed-up camper during a downpour. Not even a saint like Mother Theresa. No one. Because camping is a private form of torture and punishment saved for people like us who think they are on holidays, but whom are really just living the same life they always lived, only now it's inside a tiny, stinky square box. So much better, really. Same people, different location. Smaller venue.
That's what camping is. A good time, had by all. Really. GOOD TIMES.
But it is not all fun and games. Camping is hard work. Ask the man who forgot to bring the rubber gloves to hook up the septic system how much fun he's having now. And then ask his wife who also forgot (even after he called to remind her), but whom, when she still forgot, supplied him with two plastic grocery bags, thus saving the day. And as if that wasn't heroic enough. She then stuffed those two grocery bags inside her hubby's coat so as to create the hand-less look (so popular in the more retro campgrounds). And she did so to prove a point. Just in case the neighbouring campers hadn't already thought the two of them were bonkers already.
And the saving grace, truly -- the thing that makes camping all worthwhile... is that the all the various campers and tent trailers and tenters and the like are so densely packed in there together. They're all just squished in together like a can of ripe sardines. You would think that One such as myself might not like that so much. But, NO. It is sheer entertainment, for lack of a television station for those who also forgot the satellite dish. Entertainment, I say. Just to hear the neighbours growling at their own offspring, makes me feel good. So much more patient, so much more kindly to the kiddos. Like so much a better camper than they. And if one times it just right, it is possible to watch the whole delightful episode unfolding as one squints through the mini-blinds above the couch in their own living space. Just like watching a good sitcom at home. Nothing better, really.
You gotta love camping. And to say the very least: it sure does beat having a root canal.
