The Joys of Camping
I suppose I once enjoyed camping because it was all I knew. Sure, I trekked into Seattle once in awhile to rendezvous with a girlfriend or visit Seattle Center, but most of my earlier family memories revolve around camping at some lake, sleeping in a tent, or under the stars. Oh, those bygone days of waking up in a freezing wet sleeping bag and running barefoot through muddy rocky dirt to find an appropriate bush to seek relief from my over-stressed bladder. Good times.
The mornings were often filled with discoveries of new life forms cohabitating with me in my sleeping bag, melted sneakers found too close to the fire pit, and the mushy feeling between my toes derived from stepping on marshmallows dropped the night before.
Yeah, and all that was the good part. The bad part was waiting to use the one stinky undersized bathroom in the tiny cheap trailer, or just walking off into the woods with a shovel and a roll of toilet paper hoping to find a quiet place to do my business as everyone in the camp watched me go.
The fishing was nice though.