Marshmallows
by Lee Goldberg
After six years of being a parent, you'd think one would get the hang of
it. But if my track record is any indicator of future performance, I'm probably
doomed to amateur status for the rest of my parenting career. On occasion,
I get so wrapped up in my career that Anwyn, my six-year-old daughter, might
starve to death if Catherine, my wife, did not intervene. With all the frenetic
activity that's accompanied bringing networkZONE into being, it's not surprising
that I eventually forgot why I was doing all the work in the first place.
Fortunately, Anwyn was around to remind me. And, a short vacation with a
little camping did not hurt either.
Our summer vacation consisted of a short ramble through New England, camping out for a few days in Rhode Island before heading up to Maine where my in-laws have a cabin on a lake. I was looking forward to spending a few nights in a tent, away from the incessant pull of my phone and computer, but worried a bit about Anwyn since she's only been camping once before and tends to be a tad squeamish about dirt and bugs. Catherine and I were hopeful, and counting on her insatiable curiosity and taste for adventure to smooth over whatever discomforts we encountered.
After arriving at the campground, our first task was to set up the tent that had never left its box since the day we bought it two years ago. Anwyn immediately volunteered to read the instructions and help us sort the thing out. The instructions claimed erecting the tent was a 10-minute job, but 40 minutes later Anwyn and I finally inserted the last of the fiberglass poles in the floppy nylon pockets and poked the structure till it finally stood on its own. We tossed in the camping equipment and took a break before setting up the smaller tent where she and her cousin, who she was visiting, would spend the night.
Campgrounds are not necessarily a wilderness experience, but for Anwyn it might as well have been. After spending 15 minutes finding the perfect walking stick from among the fallen branches, we took a walk around the camp to survey the pool, mini-golf course, and other attractions. We got back, set up the other tent, and had a few minutes to play cards at the picnic table before her cousin arrived for dinner.
In my earlier days, I'd have broken out my trusty Svea gasoline stove and cooked us up my traditional one-pot wonder stew from assorted canned goods, a pound of hamburger or sausage, and whatever macaroni products I could scrounge. Unfortunately Catherine did not find this as charming as Anwyn and I did, and we found a very nice little diner nearby. Sensing my primitive urge to cook something on an open fire, Catherine wisely suggested we buy some marshmallows and some firewood before we headed back to camp.
With the last light of dusk, the kids and I scoured our campsite for enough kindling to get a fire going. I was building a classic "log cabin" style kindling pile in the fire pit when I sensed two pairs of little eyes staring at me, wondering what, exactly, I was doing. I realized then that while Anwyn had seen me fuss with a few candles and barbeque grills, she'd never been around a camp fire before. Her cousin had led an even more sheltered life (vegetarian families don't have many barbeques) and had never encountered an open flame up close. Very carefully, I helped each of them light a corner of the kindling pile and then shooed them back a bit so I could get the bigger logs onto the fire. Both kids were awestruck at the open flames, and they both screwed up their courage to get close enough to toss chunks of wood into them. I'd forgotten how much of a primitive stimulus a campfire can be, but was sharply reminded as the two kids eagerly mimicked my efforts to tend it.
Once the flames died down a bit, we hunted down some sticks to roast marshmallows on and proceeded with the ancient ritual. As most seasoned campers know, there is a fine balance between getting a marshmallow close enough to the glowing coals to produce a nice toasty brown shell, and getting it so close that it explodes into a charred fireball. Between their less-than-perfect fine motor control, and the spectacular results their mistakes yielded, it took half a bag of marshmallows before our efforts yielded much more than crisp black gooey lumps. Thank goodness Catherine likes her marshmallows like that.
With the sky dark and full of stars, we stared at the fire and told a few stories until the kids' eyelids began to droop. With the little ones tucked away, Catherine and I sat quietly and enjoyed a rare conversation that was free from interruptions. Soon, she too headed to bed. I still had a bit too much energy and sat in my camp chair, alternately reading a trashy novel by flashlight and watching the moon wander across the sky. Finally, I tucked into the sleeping bag and, despite only a thin air mattress between me and the dirt, my dreams were happy and peaceful.
That day set the tone for the rest of the week, and for the most part enjoyed spending time out-of-doors - whether it was at the campground or up at the cabin. In retrospect, it's hard to tell what part of our little outing was more memorable - watching Anwyn discover the joys of playing cards at a picnic table, and the thrill of her first bonfire, or simply being able to hang out with her for longer periods of unconstructed time than is normally possible when we're all at jobs, school, and the rest of our regular routine. I do know however, that getting unplugged from my computer, phone, and other electronic paraphernalia really helped me focus in on the family.
I understand some peoples' aversion to outdoor camping, and would not recommend it to everyone. My overweight body and its aging joints are beginning to protest at the indignity of sleeping on the ground, and living with a layer of insect repellent is not very conducive to romantic activities. Nevertheless, while I adore hotels and the amenities they offer, the quiet, the chance to fall asleep under the open sky watching the planets wander across the backdrop of the Milky Way is also something which still thrills me, and I aim to pass that thrill on to my daughter. And who knows? If we do enough camping, and roast enough marshmallows together, maybe I will get the hang of being a dad after all.
Questions? Comments? Suggestions for great camping spots?
Write me at: lgoldberg@green-electronics.com