There are two distinct worlds of camping: tents and RV's. Each is as different from the other as Democrat and Republican. Emotions run strong in both camps, and proponents of one often disdain supporters of the other. "That's not camping!" the tenters say to the lazy, pampered residents of recreational vehicles. "But when it rains it pours," responds the RV lovers.
I've done both, and I'll take a roof over my head every time.
Purists will tell you it isn't camping if you aren't roughing it. Their ideal comes straight from a Coors Lite commercial: pure mountain stream, isolation, Jeep Wrangler in a clearing with a breeze wafting through the towering pines, and fresh-caught trout frying on a white-gas grill. Just you, your sweetheart, a playful Golden Retriever, and a couple thousand dollars worth of fancy gear from Adirondack Outfitters immersed in the pristine beauty of Nature, capital N.
I've lived in that picture, and even felt the condescending distaste for families who claimed they were camping in their luxury Winnebago's. I'm older now, a bit more tolerant, and have learned the wisdom of keeping my wife and children happy during vacations. By the time we'd bought a cavernous tent, screen house, stand-up grill, folding tables and a fleet of camp chairs I realized that we were no longer "roughing it" at all, merely postponing the inevitable. We bought a twenty-foot trailer the next summer.
We travel and camp in relative comfort now, and spend far less time worrying about the weather forecast. We can decide to leave on a few hours' notice, and don't have to venture into the mountains or find a suitable meadow by a babbling brook to achieve vacation success. And we don't have to pee in the bushes anymore.
I love having a bathroom! My wife loves it more. She never accepted the concept of visiting a thicket to attend the call of Nature. I have to admit that stumbling about in the darkness with a feeble flashlight, searching for a proper place to relieve myself has long since lost its original charm. We brush our teeth in a sink now, and use real toilet paper. We can even take a shower in the tiny stall if we want to. Running water is such a fine amenity!
Power was always a problem when we were tenting. We bought propane by the six-pack and batteries by the dozen. We had a whole platoon of lanterns and flashlights. Now we simply plug in the big black cord. Sometimes we need an adapter; that's our biggest headache. We have a refrigerator! That sure saves buying all those bags of ice, and we cut down from three fat coolers to one (for the drinks). My wife's blow-dryer works much better now, too.
We can pack in an hour. Our camper holds all kinds of nifty cupboards and cabinets and drawers. All our camping stuff is in there, ready to leave on short notice. We had bins before - about six of them, all carefully labeled and loaded by checklists. We always forgot something important. "I thought YOU brought the toothbrushes!" These days we only have to be sure we've brought enough money, and most campgrounds have ATM's.
It always rains when we go camping. That used to be our lament. I once counted ten straight camping expeditions blessed by the kiss of nature's faucet. We had tarps and ropes and a green screen house from Dick's to ward off the weather, and board games to pass the time spent cowering under cover. Last night, when the sky turned purple and the thunder rumbled, we moved our canvas chairs under the roll-out awning and watched the storm roll in. As the lightning lit up the big pines around us I sat beside my wife, sipped a hot cup of coffee, read a couple chapters in King's latest novel, and relaxed to the music of the rain drumming over our heads. We looked at each other and smiled.
Later, my son watched a fuzzy TV picture as we adjusted the curtains and made up our beds for the night. The dishes were rinsed and stacked in the sink. Our old air mattresses stayed packed in their boxes as we snuggled into our beds. On the tin roof the last of the rain made a soft patter perfect for sleeping. We fluffed our pillows and whispered good-nights to each other. And sighed
"Now, THIS is camping."