Friday, June 26, 2009


I had a funny conversation recently. I was chatting with another woman about this and that, and it came up that she was a little ticked that her husband had suggested camping for their honeymoon. It just wasn’t right, she said. It’s their honeymoon, after all, and something nice was in order.

Then she asked me what Stumpy and I did for our honeymoon.
Yep. We went camping.

I felt pretty badly for her, because she was absolutely mortified, and I wasn’t the least bit offended.

On our honeymoon, we had planned to camp at Crater Lake, after a couple of nights heading down the coast, but got up to Crater Lake and found that there was still a whole lotta snow. And I’m game for camping, and I know that many Northwesterners think snow camping is all kinds of fun, but I am not a Northwesterner, and… no. Just no. I’m okay with a cabin that only has a woodstove, but for snow, I like a hard wall. I also have a strong preference for interior heat when it's freezing outside (room service is a plus, too, but... generally isn't included anywhere that has a woodstove).

I bring all this up because I’m taking the kids and the Incredible Eating Nephew to Crater Lake as part our road trip (we’re not camping up there, though).

I am, I have to admit, so glad that I chose camping over shoes (which kills me, a little, to type). I am so excited to go see all these places with the kids, and have them grump at me that they’re hungry again and can’t we just buy dinner and ask me when we’ll get there, and maybe, hopefully, just go utterly silent in awe a few times. I cannot wait. Shakespeare (we’re going to finish up with Much Ado About Nothing in Ashland) and redwoods and volcanoes and elk and seastacks.

And after all that, best of all, will be home.

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