I'm not a happy camper

I'm not even a camper.

Once upon a time I tried to be a camper.  I camped with my college boyfriend.  I camped with all my Pagan friends on and off for years, thinking I could become one with Mother Earth by sleeping on shitty inflatable mattresses and sitting around a campfire.

I even attended an earth based religion festival for several days with some good friends, and on another occasion I spent the night at a farm/campground dedicated to the treehugger/Goddess worship crowd.

I have never slept through the night when I have gone camping.  Even with prescription drugs to help me.

What I have managed to do is get too cold, bitten by bugs, develop horrible headaches for sleeping on an incline, struggle to function on sleep deprivation, and cry because I wanted to go the fuck home.

I used to feel bad that I wasn't tough or in touch with the earth enough to love camping.

Then I met a friend who declared that for her, roughing it meant no room service.

Although I will not concede to that just yet, I do find that a good night's sleep is a sacred thing- more sacred than sitting around a fire, listening to a drumming circle all night long, or peeing in the woods or in a cold state park toilet.


Roughing it for me has been staying in hostels in Ireland and the UK with no wifi.

Roughing it has been drinking coffee that tastes like ass, forgoing pretzels in a country that only has them at Christmas, and trying to understand why a culture than can make bread and chocolate so well that I cry cannot make a goddamn soup without pureeing all the ingredients until it is the consistency and color of baby food.


In these circumstances, the payoff has been seeing the sunlight play in and out of the clouds over Connemara, touch standing stones older than the pyramids, and finding the place where I want my ashes strewn when I die.


It has not in any way involved bugs- except for midges and they don't really do much damage. 

So when I read okc profiles that extoll the virtues of rock climbing and camping like it is the most wonderful thing on earth, I can confidently call bullshit and know I am not a lesser person for it.  I can revel in the feel of my down comforter and cozy bed knowing I am in no way less connected because I didn't suffer a squat in the leaves.

I've squatted plenty on the sides of roads winding through the Scottish and Irish countryside after drinking too much tea and finding no gas stations. 

I've managed to commune with nature and the earth in those two minute stops as I gazed upon Loch Awe, Highland cows, grazing sheep, rocky outcrops, waterfalls, and even a hedgehog. 

So happy campers, go ahead and wrap yourself in the smug satisfaction of knowing you enjoy "roughing it" in some state park five miles from the nearest Pizza Hut.

I will savor the quiet moments among the heather and along the Atlantic coast with as much fondness and joy.

...and less bug bites.