Girls First Camping Trip
“I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.” - Henry David Thoreau
Imagine being an 8-year-old girl camping for the very ever first time. You’re with your single dad and your older sister and her very cool older best friend. Picture, for a moment, how many times you’ve prepared for this trip. The nights spent in the backyard sleeping in the two-room tent with all the neighborhood kids. Being brave because you know that scary sound is just your older cousin Edward making noise to get the girls to squeal.
Now imagine you’re me and the above story is true. Today is game day. The Big Camping Trip. You arrive at the site and everyone runs out of the car but there is no house. Just woods and more woods. A public bathroom. My dad pitches the tent and I watch - bored and a little frustrated. I wouldn’t name that familiar feeling of frustration until years later. Impatience. Should’ve been my last name. I suppose I still have time to change it.
Finally, done with the tent, Dad takes us to see the Florida marsh. The three of us - Maggie, Maggie’s cool older friend and I - run through the woods and onto the most beautiful marsh land you’ve ever seen. The sky is reflected so brightly on the water my eyes are blind. I did forget to pack sunglasses, of course.
In fact, I forgot to pack a lot. A bathing suit, sunglasses, sneakers, and underwear. In all of the backyard camping we rehearsed we never practiced the pack.
To summarize what was a hellishly long thirty-six hours, I stepped on an oyster shell almost immediately after ooohhh and awwwing over the beautiful marsh land. Gashing my pinky toe and causing a scene. My dad carried me from the marsh through the forest, past the campsite and into the bathroom where young Josie realized for the first time that showers don’t wash away tears. I watched the blood circle down the drain and I came out only when I heard no one else in the bathroom. My solo pair of underwear had fallen from it’s holding spot right onto the half soaked dirty floor. My shoulders heaved and I sighed another emotion I wouldn’t name for years. Defeat.
Knowing I would never tell my dad about the one pair or ask my big sister and her really cool friend with the hip haircut to borrow a pair, I slogged on the soaking panties and hopped out of the bathroom - trying to put on a happy face for my overly excited dad who had waited to take his two girls camping for years.
My grandfather was a surgeon which made my attorney father an expert on the subject of surgery, which I didn’t need. To this day, the right side of my pinky toe is numb.
The night didn’t pass in a blur but, summarizing for reader interest and quality control, let’s just say I laid awake in the second room of my dad’s two room tent all night long. I listened to my dad’s snores and my sister and Cool Friend giggling from their own mini tent across the fire pit. The floor was hard, the sticks were poking me through the floor and my damn underwear were still damp. He didn’t seem concerned when I tried nudging him awake 3-10 times during the night because that sound was DEFINITELY A PANTHER so I finally just snuggled my sleeping bag next to his and waited for the sun to come up so I could start my morning watching my favorite Saturday morning cartoons.
By the time Dad had taken down both tents, made us breakfast, packed the car, driven Cool Friend home and stopped at Granny & Poppy’s house, our Saturday morning was evening. I swear I overheard them discussing my little toe my sun burnt skin and all the welting mosquito bites. “{Mother’s name} is going to be really upset Dekle.”
Recognizing the look on his face and slump in his shoulders I felt the guilt seep in. Defeated, Dad took Maggie and I to his home and sat us in front of the tv to make dinner. I didn’t want to disappoint him so I pretended as if everything was more than fine. It was fun! I intentionally didn’t scratch at the baking soda paste we covered my mosquito bites with.
Quietly though, I made a promise to myself. When I got old enough to make my own decisions, I was never ever ever ever going camping again.
And guess what - your girl never did.
