I’ll Camp, as Long as We Don’t Leave Home

When my sister and I were little, we begged our parents to pitch the tent in our backyard so we could “pretend camp.” We usually retreated to the safety of our bedroom shortly after dusk. We were more afraid of what the night sounds outside might be, like bears, which was highly unlikely in our Midwest subdivision, than of the monsters we knew lurked under our twin beds.

By high school, when our parents set up the pop-up camper in the driveway to air it out, we invited our best friends over for the night. It's crazy to me now that they let us stay in the camper, assuming any giggles drifting through the canvas walls were from innocent teenage chit chat. If only they knew we’d been passing around a bottle of Boone's Farm that my friend’s older boyfriend had brought over after dark.

Let’s Book a Flight and Hotel Instead

I liked camping at home, where strangers and spiders didn't share a damp, concrete-block bathroom at the end of a dirt path.

As for camping that required leaving the comforts of home, which usually meant towing our pop-up camper half a day to the Ozarks, I wasn't much of a fan.

Even when Dad hauled us to farther destinations, like Disney World when I was eight or the Catskill Mountains when I turned fifteen so we could drive into New York City to sightsee, I was jealous of the families who flew to those places and stayed in hotels.

Back then, it was definitely all about the destination, not the journey, for me.

Convincing My Kids, and Myself, Camping Is Fun

When I had young children of my own, we sometimes piled into the minivan to go pitch tents with church friends at nearby state parks. I'd cheerfully announce to the whiners in the backseat, "Camping will be fun." Maybe I was trying to convince myself as much as my little crew.

After all, I'd be the one escorting kids to the distant restrooms, shooing a raccoon out of a bag of Cheetos someone invariably left open in the tent, and checking everyone for ticks and poison ivy before bedtime.

We didn't camp often, and we never graduated to a pop-up trailer or cross-country camping trips. In fact, when the kids were between three and eight years old, we flew to Orlando, rented a car, and stayed in a hotel to go visit Mickey Mouse.

How a Pandemic, YouTube, and a Dog Changed Everything

Years later, I was in a new relationship with a fellow who had also grown up camping with his family. The difference was that he loved it.

We became empty nesters during the pandemic when the youngest child left for college with a year’s supply of face masks, bleach wipes, and hand sanitizer. In the quietness of our house, we somehow became hooked on watching RV YouTube channels.

During this time, we adopted our dog, Banjo, and wanted to bring him on our more of our travels. We didn't really intend to buy the van quickly as we did, but I guess when you know you know.

→Read about our van buying adventure here: It Started as a Joke.←

Since April 2023, we've camped more than 75 times. My parents would be shocked, unless perhaps they always knew their affinity for camping would eventually trickle down to me.

We love planning trips months in advance as much as we love deciding on a Friday afternoon to load up the van and head to the mountains.

Somewhere Along the Way

I've come a long way from the girl who thought camping was only okay within steps of our house. While I remain suspicious of unexplained noises in the night, I feel surprisingly secure inside our van, even in bear country. There certainly isn't room under our van bed for monsters; every inch beneath it is packed with gear once we fold the couches down for the night.

And these days, instead of giggling under the influence of cheap booze, I relax under the van’s awning with a cup of sparkling water or sometimes Pinot Noir boxed wine (cheap like old times, but not sneaky).

The destination still ranks high on my list. But somewhere along the way, the journey has bumped to first place.