When I was a young child my parents decided to build, from scratch, a popup tent trailer. My dad created the frame while mom (with the help of my older siblings, her sisters, and my grandmother) sewed tarp until her figures bled. If it were not for my grandmother’s old singer sewing machine which could tackle any fabric, the entire project would have been scrapped. The concept of building a trailer from scratch is incredible to think about now, but as a child it was simply what we did. If you wanted something you mulled over the problem and found a solution that was within your budget. They didn’t have the money to go buy a travel trailer, but with friends, family, and their own hard work managed to create something wonderful. That trailer provided memories for many people, and our family spent years enjoying the outdoors because of its creation.
My childhood was marked with many weekends at the lake or deep in a forest. From midnight trotline runs, to quiet mornings sitting in a boat with my dad watching the fog lift as our rills spun line into the depths. My dad passed away when I was 17 and those memories are something I cherish. This is why I find it so appealing and important to my own children’s lives. People who post meme’s about camping being a way for someone to experience life as a homeless person are totally missing the deeper aspects of the experience. Waking up to chirping birds and crisp air is freeing, both mentally and physically. You feel part of something bigger, more connected. This, I think, is one of the most important things my dad taught me. He never said it in so many words. It was simply his actions, and the peace he radiated when we walked the woods or skimmed across a lake.
Growing up, there wasn’t a person I knew who could feed an army from a single cast iron skillet and a two burner camp stove except my mom. Camping for my mother was all about the food. She enjoyed cooking and the more people she could feed, the better. From packing the camper with the essential gear, to having a checklist of what was needed for each meal, my mom was a master. I grew up with a women who made it her duty to insure every single one of her kids could cook and cook well on the fly with a limited pantry. Breakfast was her favorite meal, and when out in the woods, having a hot meal early in the morning was so satisfying. Let us not forget the incredible fish fries she would pull off every weekend without batting an eye. If you have never had a deep fried biscuit, you are missing out. My mom wasn’t just sitting on the bank either, but out at 3AM when the kids had all falling asleep and someone had to go run the lines with dad. She loved taking us out in the wilderness, turning us loose to explore, yet always aware of everything. If dad had to work late on Friday, she would gather the kids, grand-kids, dogs, popup, and rush to the lake to get us a good spot before everyone arrived that evening after work. She was the women who made it all happen and taught me never to wait for others or be afraid to try something new.
As Thanksgiving arrives, thinking of my parents brings both joy and sadness, but the memories I have from our times shared in the outdoors are among the best gifts imaginable. My parents gave me a lot of things to be thankful for here on this earth, with a love of camping near the top. Rest well, mom and dad. Until we meet again, know you taught me well, and I am already passing on that knowledge to the next generation.
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