Our family goes camping at least once each summer in Minnesota. We usually head for a State Park and bring along the usual tent, canoe, bikes and, more recently, a large camper. The boys and I get up the morning of, pack our bags and then find something to do while Jon unpacks and packs again all of our stuff. I try not to interfere, as I know that the only two real necessities are an ax and and box of wine, and even that can be bought on the way to the camp site.
When we are finally on our way we prepare for the inevitable stops for gas, lunch and Erik's Bike Shop. We can't really be called regular customers as we only shop at Eriks in the month of July, but Erik certainly gets our business. We stop to buy a bike, exchange it for another bike, or to get it repaired. Well, not we; Jon takes care of the bike business while the rest of us grocery shop. I must be the only one who buys camping supplies in Trader Joes and Byerly's because they are handily right next to the bike shop.
By now we are hours behind schedule and just hoping to make it to the camp site before dark. We haven't booked ahead because... well we just aren't willing to make that commitment. So we have to take what is available with only non electric left. This leads to us driving around the
campsite looking for a place where we can fit, and not too far from the showers. We love State Parks for their "surrounded by nature" approach to camping. They are private and quiet and cheap. And although we bring a fully functioning camper, we refuse to use its bathroom, and the cooking has to be done outside over the fire. Otherwise we might just as well as stay in a hotel.
And so the work begins setting up camp, leveling the camper that has been backed into place twelve times just to get it just right, and starting a fire.
At this point our middle son's patience runs out. He just can't spend another minute waiting around for this family to make another decision. No, he won't make a fire, no, he won't pose for a picture, no, he won't make inquiries at the visitor's center about WiFi. I feel his pain. I'm not too fond of this part of camping either. I am ready to get out, explore and see the beauty of the place we are in. The last thing I want to do is start cooking.
Energized by a short walk to the river and falls, I provide sandwiches for us all. This is greeted by
complaints and suggestions that we go into town for 'smore' stuff.
It is dark before I make it to the shower house. I have to take Ben with me because he accidentally left our soap and shampoo in the men's. Over the years we have made quite a collection of 'Ben and Bathroom' stories. He has been know to get lost coming and going, and there was the one time he forgot to take a towel and had to dry off using the hand blower. And, of course, we find his sock laying on the path.
I sleep well at night, it is cool and calm, quiet and dark. In the morning we build a fire and fry bacon, eggs and make blueberry pancakes. Then the boys take off with mountain bikes to do whatever young bucks do. Jon unpacks and packs up the camper again. I try to charge my phone at the visitor center and start walking, watching and blogging.
Day two is grayer, with minor injuries and tired bodies. We take off in the car to do some sight seeing. Jake wants to stop at a brewery. Sam wants fast food. Jon wants to shop in Duluth. I want to visit a lighthouse, and Ben doesn't know what he wants,... probably to go home, so we don't ask him. We take care of everyone's wishes, except Ben's, who suffers quietly in the back third row seat.
By day three, we can no longer pretend to cater to anyone else and go our separate ways. Ben stays in bed, Jake goes out biking alone, and Sam plugs in with headphones and electronic game. Jon goes back to shop in Duluth and I take a short walk on the Superior Hiking Trail looking for wolves and wildflowers. Ahh...
I see a bald eagle and kingfisher on the river; wolf or coyote tracks and a dead squirrel; a rushing river blowing foam like bubbles; blue bells, buttercups and daisies; pine and silver birch; smooth river rocks and blue slate; rapids, lakes and waterfalls, all brown with iron ore. My heart sings... then I turn back to rejoin my family. I wonder why we do this every year. Our family is the most dysfunctional when we are all together, we don't even pretend to want what the others want. It comes down to wanting to share what we love with those closest to us.
We drive home together and laugh.
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