My son, Thomas, recently joined the Cub Scouts. One of his first activities was a Parent/Son camping trip – which he and I did this weekend. We arrived at Camp William B. Snyder on Saturday morning, pitched our tent, ate a bag lunch prepared for us by his mom, and then shot BB guns, did archery, built a wooden model airplane, tossed horseshoes, and played tug rope. We also took a hike around a pond – an occasion for Thomas to learn that lily pads are moored to the pond’s bottom by long stems. He also practiced skipping rocks.
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Dinner was followed by a campfire, after which it was lights out.
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This was the first time since I was a kid that I slept out-of-doors.
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I enjoyed every second with Thomas, for whom this was also a first-time experience.
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But, I confess, never would I choose camping as a means of entertainment for myself. Although the tent we have is very nice for the price – less than a hundred bucks buys a tent that’s roomy, ingeniously designed, easy to erect, and water-repellant – and although I even invested in a good sleeping bag, my sleep was restless because I’m unaccustomed to sleeping with only a thin sheet of plastic and some goose down between my body and the lumpy ground.
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And while I’m thankful that the weather cooperated – offering pleasant temperatures, low humidity, and just a touch of rain at night – by 5:30 am I felt pretty darn miserable. Unshowered, unshaven, and uncoffeed are all tolerable for a few hours. But I frown upon using an outhouse.
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The worst part, however, were the ticks. I didn’t realize that I was infested with them until I returned home, when I found one crawling on my finger. I found a few more in my hair. I searched through Thomas’s hair – fortunately blonde – and, sure enough, I discovered one that was on the verge of digging its blood-sucking mouth into his scalp. I then performed on him a rather humiliating, but necessary, full naked-body search, which, fortunately, revealed no more ticks on my boy.
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Give me civilization any day over “nature.” I say “nature” because, of course, the nature that Thomas and I experienced this past weekend was still pretty civilized – we arrived and departed by car, stayed only one night, had use of a cell-phone and modern camping equipment all purchased in a big-box retail store. (It should also have featured use of modern insect repellant; live and learn.)
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But even my brief experience with quasi-nature assures me that full-throttle nature is horribly uncomfortable, dirty, smelly, bug-ridden, and dull. (Just before Thomas and I turned off our flashlight to go to sleep in our tent, Thomas remarked “Daddy, there’s nothing to do here [in this tent]” – by which he meant, no t.v., no real opportunity to read before falling asleep, no websites to visit, and no real opportunity to play with toys.
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So I don’t enjoy nature even when it’s mellowed by civilizing influences such as water-repellant tents and battery-powered flashlights. I sure as heck would not enjoy raw, full-throttled nature.
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I love civilization.
