As a countdown to my 30th birthday on March 18, I’ve committed to offering 30 people, things and experiences I want to celebrate from the last 30 years. Grab a piece of cake and enjoy reading!
My mother has been known to say that I was born in the dirt. By which she means I was camping by the time I was six months old.
That’s tent camping, for those of you who do the RV thing.
Many of my childhood memories involve firewood, dirt, sleeping bags, bikes and fighting with my brother for the front seat as we drove around the country looking for places to set up camp. We’d do this for two weeks straight with my dad every summer and periodically with my mom. By the time I was a freshman in college, the only Christmas gift I really wanted was a tent. And when my husband and I were planning to move from California to Pennsylvania, we loaded the sleeping bags, tent and camping box into the back of the car for a month of travel.
Over the years, I’ve camped:
- In the sweltering heat of Death Valley
- On the god-forsaken Outer Banks
- At the edge of the Grand Canyon
- On a dewy Lexington, Kentucky horse farm
- Under giant redwood trees in Big Sur
- Amid the canyon walls of Zion National Park
- In the torrential downpours of West Virginia
(A view of our South Dakota campground during the cross-country trek. A bison walked right on through later that day.)
As a kid, I camped because my parents camped. By the time I was 18, I started to camp because it made me feel better. Because it blurred my distinction between the material and immaterial worlds. Because I could satisfy the evolutionary part of me that just wants to scavenge.
In the end, though, I think camping draws out the perfect alchemy of child and adult in me. I love how responsible I feel when I camp. I also love that camping has enabled me to stay connected to the kid who’s forever on the hunt for arrowheads and snakes and is fairly certain that squirrels are looking for human friends and that fires are made out of magic.
Now who’s ready to celebrate with a s’mores?
Tags: celebration, creativity
For me the smell of Pine around Aviemore, Scotland fills my camping memories. Years of brilliant camping. Now I take my kids there. So far they love it.
Adam – what a wonderful memory and how terrific that your kids love it! Thank you for sharing.
ZION! What a beautiful place. Alex and I camped there in ‘07. Good call on the alchemy of childhood and adulthood. Agreed.
Thanks, Julie! And yeah, Zion is just something else – amazingly tranquil.
[...] my mother was to say I was born in the dirt, my father might be likely to say I was born on the stage. I’ve performed in Shakespeare and [...]