Camping

Last weekend, as a family, we went on our annual camping trip. It's something we look forward to every summer. We have a specific spot we enjoy in the mountains, but some years we try different spots. So, this year we wound our way up the road into the fir and aspen filled mountains where we had planned on camping alongside a lake. We aren't ones to reserve spaces, and when we arrived, the campgrounds were filled.

I thought my daughter was going to hyperventilate, she got so distressed over the fact that we couldn't camp there. After assuring her we would find space at another campsite, she calmed down a bit. And we did find a campsite. A nice, quiet place, until a large clan across the way showed up with their dogs. Even with the irritation of barking dogs waking us up at midnight, we had a relaxing time.

And that's why I camp.

I don't do it because I love two days of griminess building up on my body. I don't go because I just can't get enough of that port-o-potty smell wafting down to our tent. I don't go because I wake up every morning stiff as the tin man needing a little oil in my squeaky joints. I don't do it because I love being on the verge of passing out when we go hiking in high altitudes.

No.

I do it because I love spending time with my family. I enjoy those moments when I sit alongside my husband next to the campfire, saying nothing at all, but comforted by his presence on those dark nights with strangers on either side of us. I enjoy the chill that sends me curling up next to him in our tent. I love seeing the excitement on my daughter's face when she pretends to do her "experiments" with dirt and river water.

And I love the drive home, knowing I'll finally be getting that shower I've been craving for the past two days.

Is there some summer tradition that you made sure you did this summer?