When we married, all of forty-two years ago, I didn't ask an essential question of my husband-to-be. He looked like a lumberjack, favoring jeans and flannel. He was as strong as a bull and big as a barn. I made some assumptions.
One day, a few months into our life as married folk, I was driving down the road and saw a nice pop-up camper in a yard. I stopped and found out that they were only asking $125.00 for it, a steal back in 1982. I called Ken from the peoples' phone (no one had cellphones except James Bond) and said wow, guess what I found?! An uncomfortable pause, then he said "Uh....does it have a bathroom?" "Of course not! It's a pop-up camper, not the Ritz!" I quipped. He responded: "Well, I'm really more of a Holiday Inn kind of guy. I don't want a camper." Why I never thought to ask these questions, I do not know. I was raised going to King's Camp on Lake Allatoona, in a tent, spooning with my siblings on the cold, wet, uneven ground. I know my Mama really only agreed to this because she loved Daddy and us. It went against every sensibility her German-influenced housekeeping rules would allow. But she jumped in there with all the prep and cooking and cleaning that camping entails. In the same manner, she fed my constant influx of animals that came to our home. I appreciate that these things went completely against her nature, but she did them anyway (Happy Birthday, Mama).
Even with the rocky start, along the way of Ken and I's long trek, we have actually camped. Two of our years were lived in a leaky, old, decrepit camper (it did have a bathroom) while we built a house on acreage. A few years ago, one of our sons took up camping in a big way. He has the gift of persuasion and sold me on the idea. I bought a little camper (brown, ugly, dated, boring) and surprised Ken with it one night. I cleaned it up, painted it so it looked like a darling, retro Barbie camper -- turquoise, cream and coral inside and out. We put down a new floor, sewed adorable little curtains and put a shiny new backsplash behind the stove. It was so cute, when I decided to sell it I had three people show up at the same time to buy it -- two of the parties circled the block while the first lady bought it. I doubled our money, then reinvested in a newer, much bigger camper. It's so darling, but one of our sons is now living in it with his family while they build their house on ten acres (who does that?!). By the time we get it back, maybe I'll sell that one too, just for fun. Ken keeps reminding me that we could take that money, put it aside, and just rent a cottage nearby when our children camp. I don't know. Might be a thing...
This week, we are camping with that persuasive son, his wife and their four energetic children in Kentucky. We have an uncanny knack of doing this when the temperature bumps down to Alaskan climes. So far, the water has frozen up every night. I have a wicked cold, can't breathe and feel like I'm operating at less than half capacity. At night, Ken and I bundle up while I strap on the CPAP and put on an eye mask to block the light. Sounds like purgatory, but I sure am loving the time with these little people who won't stay little very long. Seize the day. Our concluding activity will be to visit the Ark Encounter, an amazing experience I highly recommend. Ken's never seen it before, so I'm looking forward to his reaction. And I'll try not to cry when I see that big boat on the hill.
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