Having spent substantial parts of the last
two years in Alaska and Southern Africa, I was excited when my friend, Meg'n (she requested that I disguise her name pretty good, huh?) asked whether I would be interested in camping in the woods for the weekend. Then I remembered where I was; Washington DC, in 90 degree heat, with thunderstorms looming and no clean clothes on the horizon. Add to that that armies of allergens besieged my sinuses, and I was beginning to feel less than enthused. The straw that broke this camel's back was the realization that I would be missing a weekend-long Crocodile Hunter marathon on the Animal Planet. So, to say I was slightly restrained in my exuberance at being taken camping a mere one hour from a bustling metropolis is an understatement. I was downright skeptical.
Camping, to me, conjures up visions of hiking the Appalachian Trail, cooking cous-cous and rice over campfires, and relieving one's bodily functions loudly (and undisturbed) in the woods. Camping necessitates wilderness, unexplored areas and a lack of ever-present summer RV homes. But apparently, that's only my vision of camping. To many other people, a wilderness weekend involves driving 30 minutes toward the Appalachian Mountains, not quite getting there, and then bedding down for the night in a tiny splash of state park. In our case, the park was a little splash of non-interstate known as Greenbriar State Park, complete with its own "42-acre man-made lake and beach [that] draw[s] many visitors who enjoy swimming, canoeing, hiking, picnicking, interpretive programs and nature study." Yeah right, if only it was so exciting.
The park itself was not unattractive. It was just crowded. We were both shocked by what we saw as we circled, looking for Site #12 on Loop B, for Birch (how cute). Tent sites were crammed together, often times separated by as little as one or two trees. Our site was just as impressive. It was a miniscule 20 x 20 ft gravel clearing, with a fire circle and a beautifully clear view of our neighbors across the street. We were both a bit skeptical at this point. The difference was that Meg'n's skepticism was shed as soon as we set up the tent, while mine remained well into the evening.
Most disturbingly, all of our neighbors had children. They were all over the place, spilling out of RVs and pop-up tents, tearing through the woods in search of creepy-crawlers, shrieking about the discovery of said creatures, and crying that "Billy made me eat a daddy-long-legs." I don't want to make it seem like I don't love children, because I do. There's just a certain age range that I find a bit annoying, when they're between one and 19 years old. No, seriously, I do like kids, but they're not the first things I want to see and hear when I'm trying to get away for a relaxing weekend, you know? In the meantime, while the kids were committing what sounded to me like acts of unspeakable depravity, Maw and Paw Backcountry were discussing the virtues of charcoal over gas, a no-brainer. The TVs and stereos in their RVs were blaring as they lounged outside. All the while they were yelling back and forth to Uncle and Aunt Backwoods about the latest in the world of RV innovations, and drunkenly musing about how the children were being "as loud as Mexicans." Their words, not mine.
The restroom facilities were just as shocking, but for totally different reasons. They were clean. How can one take a camping experience seriously when there is no foul stink lurking in the bathroom, when there are no spiders blanketing the walls and when there are no huge crane flies and mosquitoes bombarding you as you attempt to have a shower. The showers, too, were amazing. The knobs actually allowed you to control the water temperature with amazing accuracy, and there were even those flower-shaped things on the floor to keep you from slipping. I'm surprised that the authorities at Greenbriar didn't run an advertising campaign predicated solely on the cleanliness of their facilities.
The next day, we rented a canoe from a horribly overworked young lady. It stank, quite literally. It smelled (and looked, surprisingly) as if we were riding in an inside-out porta-potty, and every time the wind changed, I suppressed the urge to vomit off the side of the boat. Still, it was nice to be on the water away from the hordes of people on the crowded shore. As we meandered across the lake, the noise emanating from the shore was deafening. Eventually, we tired of the smell and the noise, and called it a weekend, opting to go home instead of forcing the issue.
But for all my complaining, I had a wonderful time. I was even surprisingly calm when it was revealed that Meg'n had brought matches, but had forgotten to bring something on which to strike them, such as something as obvious as the matchbox in which they were packaged. What an idiot. Just kidding, of course!
I suppose that one need not venture deep into the wilderness to be removed from the stress and concrete of a city. It's therapeutic, if nothing else, to sweat it out with a few logs and some kindling as you attempt to start the fire, knowing that if you can't make a fire, then there's no dinner (No dinner meaning that we'd have to drive the burdensome 10 miles to Burger King). That, in and of itself, is enough of a sense of wilderness for me. Meanwhile, I managed to burn myself profusely and accidentally extinguish the fire a few times. Thankfully, Meg'n rescued me and we were able to make a delicious tin foil dinner. Just in case you don't know what that is, we cut potatoes, carrots and mushrooms, marinated them in barbecue sauce and heated the concoction over embers. It was delicious, and it really made me feel as if we had accomplished something. Next on my list is tackling the Appalachian Trail. I should be able to do it in a week, or so, I figure.
As we left Greenbriar, the Sunday rush had started. Cars were lined up for almost a mile, filled with eager weekenders seeking respite from their city lives. I suppose that it's better for people to enjoy some of the outdoors than none at all. And I can say that the world would be a much better place if we all occasionally packed up, forgot about the hustle and bustle of business life and went camping for the weekend.
Yeah, I know I'm pathetic. I'm not hardcore. Nor am I a true "camper" or even very "outdoorsy", but don't judge me. Try it for yourself. Drop your work, forget your worries, when the weekend gets here just get outside, because it's beautiful.
