Sunless Sunday

 I watched the NOAA weather station‘s radar loop light up the screen with a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, yellows and reds, and I could hear engines start up as campers were pulling out of their campsites. It was not even noon and the campsites were vacating rapidly despite the 3pm check-out.  When the rain arrives early Sunday morning and there is no end in sight, most people pack it in and make a hasty retreat to their dry homes. Some even ask if we could refund them since their vacation was cut short with rain, and become annoyed when we say no, explaining we have no control over weather. The disappointed and disillusioned first timers whose brand new tent leaked like a sieve plod into the office looking for coffee, not just to warm them up, but to give a caffeine boost so they have the energy to finish cramming the muddy equipment into the car after the sleepless night they had just endured.  Lesson learned, even the best of tents should to be tarped in a heavy rainstorm.

As I watched the mass exodus, I thought back to my first experience of camping in a tent.  I had just met my husband and decided I would show an interest in his occupation by purchasing a large canvas tent and various cool looking camping accessories.  I did a practice pitching in the back yard to be sure I wouldn’t look completely inept. Satisfied that I was prepared for my first camping experience, I reserved a weekend at his family owned campground.   

Feeling benevolent, I decided to invite my nephew, four nieces and my mom, not thinking of how I’d transport them and the equipment.  Although I loved my Volkswagen rabbit, it was not my first choice when I had purchased my brand new vehicle eight months earlier.  I really wanted to get the VW Westphalia van.  However, my mother would not hear of it.  After all, good catholic girls do not drive around with their bedrooms!  I piled my mom and five kids in my Volkswagen rabbit.  Obviously it was long before the days when seatbelts and car seats were required.  I had the tent and other gear tied to the roof.

 I was feeling quite proud of myself after I pitched the tent without any problems especially since my only other tenting experience prior to my practice pitch was draping a sheet over a table and playing under it with my cousin when I was a child. One of the cool purchases I had made was a set of pots, pans and dishes that all nested within the largest sized pot.  It didn’t occur to me that paper plates would have been the wiser choice with five kids and two adults.  I’d no sooner get done heating water; washing and drying the dishes then fitting them back "puzzle style" into the pot, when it was time to start the next meal.  My mother would watch me perform this ritual over and over and continually ask “and you call this fun?” 

Hot dogs and beans over the fire was dinner that night, followed of course by the mandatory s’mores for dessert. 

Finally, when dinner and marshmallow toasting time was over, I left my mother with her grandkids ranging in age from 5 to 11 years old sitting by the fire and walked over to the patio by the lake for some romantic moments with my new found beau. 

We had only been together for a few minutes when he stood up and said we’d better head back to the campsite.  I thought perhaps bringing five kids and a mother was too much for him when he explained there is rain coming. 

Seriously? I asked myself, who does this guy think he is, Daniel Boone?  Then I heard it; a drumming, far away and muffled at first, then getting louder and louder.  We broke into a run, but the wall of rain coming over the mountain was moving faster than we were, and by the time we reached the campsite we were drenched. 

I stuck my head into the tent and found my mom inside with the kids praying the rosary for protection against a chance lightning strike on a nearby tree that would surely fall and crush them all.  Mom and the five kids had pretty much filled the 8x10 cabin tent, and I decided to sleep in the back of Clate’s pickup, which had a cap over it and a mattress that spanned the width of the truck bed. The storm was raging outside and I must admit I may have said a decade or two of Hail Mary’s myself. 

Breakfast was spam and eggs.  It was surprising how that canned mystery meat actually tasted good when cooked over an open fire.  While I was packing away the tent and loading up the car, Mom stated this whole outdoor thing wasn’t worth the trouble and isn’t anything she’d want to repeat.  No chance of that happening, I thought, as I listened to five kids fighting over who would ride shotgun.

A shrill alarm coming from the weather radio beside me warned the possibility of flash flooding in the area and brought my mind back to the present.

A young couple came running into the office looking for a campsite. Rain is what separates the true outdoor enthusiasts from the weekend “wannanbes” I thought, as I smiled and handed them a registration form and campground map.