Glamping

Camping. The word has a bucolic sound to it and brings to mind starry nights around a campfire, singing songs and telling stories. Waking up to the sounds of birds singing in trees, outside your tent. Peaceful, rustic...…

When we were much younger, Larry and I enjoyed camping. Our honeymoon was spent in a pick-up truck with a cap over the truck bed, and two TWIN beds over the wheel hubs. Yep. I kid you not. Romantic? Only to two people who enjoyed camping. We progressed from truck campers to tents. Sleeping bags and Coleman stoves were part of our most important possessions. Fishing, hiking, and sitting around the campfire with friends made up the perfect day. Our bodies were young, our knees were limber, and the ground wasn't as hard back then. 

True confession: It all came to a halt after we moved to Florida. Camping centered around fishing, which meant we camped near water. It didn't take me long to zero in on some major objections. Namely, Snakes, Alligators and Bugs. We had a big cabin tent that had ties to close the tent flaps. Not as secure as I would have liked.

My first attempt to inhibit my environment came when I laid the tent out on the grass, carried my Singer Feather Weight sewing machine and a long extension cord outside and sewed zippers down the front and across the bottom to keep out the Snakes, Alligators, and hopefully, Bugs! Unfortunately, even after I critter proofed my tent, I couldn't get enamored with Florida campgrounds. Most of the sites we found were on or near rundown fish camps. I missed the pine woods of Pennsylvania.

The final straw was the night we spent alongside the St. Johns River, camped behind a bar. Not a sandbar, mind you. A watering hole for people. That was bad enough, but when the sun went down, and the Coleman Lantern was lit, we discovered the old picnic table was home to a host of palmetto bugs. I finally fell asleep sometime after 2 a.m. when the bar closed, the final patron drove away and I had plugged the tiny hole where the 3 zippers met, to keep out the critters.

Now, we are older. We have an RV, but its more than a camper. It's a motor home. Our knees have told us that those days of sleeping on the ground have passed. Cooking outside (whatever the weather) no longer has its pull. We enjoy the comforts of home;  we like comfortable beds, air conditioning, a stove and refrigerator, the option to sit outside on a nice evening, or inside on a wet one.The current term for campers like us is Glamping--Glamourous Camping.

The more I think about it, the more I feel Glamping doesn't adequately describe us, but I think our Winnebago does.

It is a "Sightseer". And so are we. When we've reached a destination, we park the house, and take off in the Toad, seeing places too remote for our 10 ton, 6-wheeled, 35' mobile home, But it is there, waiting for us, to come home to at the end of the day.  

For us the reality of RVing is simply House On Wheels. We love to travel and see new places, but motels get tiring. They never feel like home. With an RV, everything we need, we have. No suitcases to haul or pack and unpack.

Hmmm, We carry our shell wherever we go, and when we arrive, we set it down, pull in, and settle for the night. Aha! We are Turtles! GlampingTurtles.