Yes, we went camping because someone in our family had us all convinced that packing up a bunch of gear, suffering an exhaustive ride hunkered down in the back of a musty, gas-smelling, sauna-like truck camper, and hoping like hell we could catch some fish at the river because that was our dinner, was some kind of vacation. Well, I do have to admit, there was always a remote chance that, while camping, we (all the kids) would be treated to a meal at one of the few restaurants the local villages offered. Were not talking big city here, were talking about towns with names like Hoodsport, Lilliwaup, and Duckabush. Bet you've never heard of those towns before. Of course, you may have found familiarization if I'd mentioned a little town called "Forks" but that's on the other side of the Olympic mountains and only became famouse when someone who'd never been there before wrote a trilogy using the town as a backdrop.
Anyway, this was one of those rare occasions when the adults called us all together and told us to load up in the back of the truck. We were all smiles and giddiness as we watched the small group of trailers, parked in a semi-circle around a central campfire as if we'd circled the wagons, disappear through the pine trees. We were treated to our favorite meal at none other than the Hungry Bear cafe. The Hungry Bear offered the biggest hamburger I'd ever seen, and an order of homemade french fries so large it required its own plate. That's how we ate. We were all about the meat and potatoes back then. I mean, don't get me wrong, we had vegetables too if you include the onion, pickle, and lettuce on the hamburger. Oh, and of course, Ketchup counted as a vegetable too.
It is strange to think that fantasy is sometimes so much more entertaining than reality. Nowadays I treasure the thought of joining fantasy and reality together in my stories. It is fascinating to me that one simple word uttered in the context of something foreign to me can spawn such a vivid memory from so long ago.