Growing up, my parents owned a twelve-foot travel trailer. I have many happy memories of times spent in that trailer. My father was a United States Air Force loadmaster, meaning essentially, he loaded military airplanes for a living. His particular career field meant he traveled a lot, sometimes we were privileged to join him. I particularly loved those adventures which often involved overnight stays in our camper.
It would be years before I learned my mother really did not share my excitement over times spent in our travel trailer. As an adult, I completely understand. A twelve-foot trailer is not an ideal space for a family of four (my younger brother didn’t arrive until later on). It was cramped, required a lot of pre and post-loading work, lacked much in the way of storage space, and afforded absolutely no privacy.
The shower/toilet combo was smaller than the coat closet in most modern houses. A trip to the restroom after any family member who had showered guaranteed a wet butt due to the saturated toilet seat. To avoid the hot, claustrophobic camper shower, we often used the public camp-ground showers. Of course, that meant traipsing across the campground carrying soap, shampoo, towel, and clean clothes; although my sister and I never admitted it, frequently, something was dropped during the trip.
The best part ever? Sleeping in the camper. Ugh. I’ve no doubt it was sold on the premise of “sleeps six” but I don’t think that meant six real humans. My parents slept on the convertible couch located at the very rear of the camper. I can’t speak to their level of comfort as I only used the couch as well, a couch.
My sister and I had the distinct displeasure, she more than I, of sleeping on the bunk bed right above the convertible couch. The space was barely large enough to turn from your stomach to back and melded into the curve of the camper’s roof. I at least got the outside edge with breathing space. My poor sister was squashed between me and the back wall/roof. To make matters slightly worse, my parents would open one of the overhead cabinet doors, affording them a little privacy but completely blocking my line of sight to anywhere.
The dining room table and bench seats at the front of the camper also converted into a bed, although don’t recall anyone ever actually sleeping there. My parents used the space to hang out and play games after we girls had gone to bed.
Fast forward a few years to mine and my husband’s camping trip to the New Mexico mountains. Our children, one in particular, have harassed us that renting a cabin isn’t really camping but rather, glamping. I honestly don’t understand how a cabin without electricity or running water could be considered glamping? Our meals were cooked outdoors over an open fire, the toilet was an outhouse and showers consisted of wetting a washcloth in water boiled over the campfire. There was no television, no WIFI, no cell service, and frankly no way to easily get back down the mountain, so we never ventured further than we could hike. Humph. What do kids know?
Now this year’s Arkansas cabin would totally qualify as glamping, and for that, I make absolutely no apologies! All our meals were once again cooked outdoors, but this time using a propane grill. We packed in all our groceries, same as last year, the difference this year? A fully functioning refrigerator complete with an ice maker; yay! I like my beverages with a lot of ice. We had hot, running water for nightly showers, flushing toilets, a washer, and dryer, a dishwasher, an electric fireplace, two satellite-enabled televisions, and best of all, a jacuzzi on the back patio.
There are the purists who believe true camping requires hiking in, sleeping in a tent, and only bringing what you can carry on your back. I can’t say I’ve ever experienced quite that type of primitive camping, but I have tent camped in both the Idaho mountains with a seven-month-old and the Oregon mountains with the same baby, a few months later. Both experiences were challenging to say the least. Would I do it again? Maybe. Although, I would not advise reading a book on Grizzly bear attacks on the drive to any tent camping destination.
The Arkansas cabin was a step up from the New Mexico cabin, so I expect yet another improvement on our next adventure. What can I say? A-glamping we will go!
Until Next Time,
Becky J Miller
Warrior Princess