Yes. However, I cant rejoice to answer in the affirmative. For me camping is attached to childhood memories. For which I find myself having less and less utility for as years are added to my mortal coil. Every year camping was our summer vacation. Finances were tight, so this type of getaway worked for us because it was budget friendly. That point in particular makes me sad, because I know the grind my dad put in for us to have even that. Three jobs. Now as an adult I struggle to reconcile that amount of work with the actual amount of leisure he could’ve experienced during our vacations. Maybe my retrospective adult filter has got it all wrong. He could’ve very much enjoyed vacations due to the weekly grind he put in, possibly. But my memories of camping are embittered most by the last trip we took.

On the penultimate day of my junior year in high-school, mom left. The black Jaguar XJ6 that my dad and I fully restored, bore her and all her earthly belongings away down the sloping Johanna Dr.. Then a few short weeks later we embarked on the regularly scheduled family vacation. Bad idea. We were accustomed to being at the lake, taking in sun-soaked days on the boat. Mom and dad labored over savory dinners that were smelled first and consumed with genuine contentment second. This new version of vacation was depressing. Dad cooked dinner’s on his own. Days on the lake floated by under an oppressive pall. When we didnt catch any fish, the pangs of those failures seemed to hearken to a louder, foreboding knell. Worst of all, my sister, developing into a young woman didnt have her mother. I remember Amie crying in the back seat as we drove back home from that last vacation. Dad and I being unable to restore who was missing, just looked out the front windshield, away from our hurting reality.

So yes, I’ve been camping, but please dont ask me to go back.