Camping Is Not For Sissies

What exactly is a sissy? I just looked it up and it means an effeminate man or boy or a timid or cowardly person. Camping is definitely not for a coward, especially the longish camping trip Anthony and I are about to embark on.

I like to pride myself on being one of those people who isn't into material things. I haven't bought new shoes for quite a while (other than running shoes, those need to be kept newish so you don't hurt yourself), most of my clothes bear the logo of one of my former employers and were given to me for free or at a steep discount, and my truck is old enough to drink. Seriously, it was born in 1988.

Yet somehow when we start to pull out all of the junk we need just to take a simple camping trip and be able to sleep, stay warm, prepare a meal, and light a campfire, I become overwhelmed by the amount of stuff it takes! And that's not even close to all of the stuff that we have in our house! We have milk crates filled to the brim with canned goods and paper towels, bags stuffed with beach towels and underwear, and camping gear coming out of our ears.

That's why I say camping is not for sissies. You have to find it, pack it, cram it, yell at it, drive it hundreds or thousands of miles away, unload it, keep it (kind of) clean, repack it, wondering why you can't get it to fit back in the same damn way it was before, drive it another few hundred or thousand miles, unload it, clean it, leave it in the dish rack or on the living room floor for two weeks, and then put it away. Exhausting! But worth it.

For the next week or two I'll be sleeping under the stars and showering infrequently, but if I ever get a chance to hit an Internet cafe, I'll check in.