Happy Campers

Like most parents, I want my kids to be happy. I look back on my childhood and remember good times and feeling safe and loved. I hope my kids will feel the same when they are my age. Memories are the warm blanket we pull out on days that give us a chill. When work is a little too frustrating, or money causes too much stress, it’s nice to think back to simpler times, when I didn’t have to be responsible.

I know that there a lot of kids who didn’t have that luxury. I was fortunate. I did not have to experience a parent’s death or a divorce. No abuse, no addictions. I never even saw them fight. They were stable. I had no idea at the time what a rarity I was experiencing.

My kids have not been quite as fortunate. I’m not nearly as stable as my parents. I think I’m a little more fun, but that may not always be a good thing. Sometimes kids don’t need a comedian, they need a father. I’m not sure I’ve balanced that as well as I could have.

Still, Connie and I have tried hard to give the kids a relatively stable home life. We do a lot of things together as a family, and I’m both thrilled and proud that Shelby still seems to enjoy being with us all, despite the fact that since she will soon be turning nineteen she has plenty of other options. We like picnics and parks and hiking and movies. Not every minute is whistling and holding hands, but I think we enjoy each other’s company.

As fall approaches, our thoughts turn to camping. Some of my favorite memories with my kids have been sitting around the campfire, watching them roast marshmallows and seeing them laugh in the orange glow of the flickering flames.




Last year was disappointing. Due to my work schedule, weather and other factors, we did not get to camp at all. It frustrated each of us, as if our year was somehow not complete without the frigid chill of sleeping in a tent and the unmistakable sound of zipper flaps opening and closing.

We didn’t camp a lot when I was a kid. I only remember once, sleeping in a big, green, canvas Army tent my Dad had procured and when we woke up the next morning, any part of our bodies that had touched the fabric had turned a dull shade of asparagus. I looked like Kermit the frog.

It was fun though, and another of those childhood memories I cherish. The next time I camped I was newly married, and our pup tent was cozy and romantic (admittedly, when you are newly married, you pretty much find everything romantic).

Before the kids were born, Connie and I camped a few times with our young married group at Robertsville Baptist Church, which culminated in the legendary night when all the husbands stood around the campfire taking a bite from their hot dog and then a bite from a large onion. The first to finish their onion was the winner (I don’t believe there was an actual prize other than bragging rights). Needless to say, there was not a lot of romance that evening.

At some point someone told us about a campground in Wartburg, TN which was about twenty-five minutes from our home. Frozen Head State Park is situated at the base of a wooded ridge in the Cumberland Mountains, two miles from the Morgan County Correctional Facility for Men and about five miles (as the crow flies) over the hill from Brushy Mountain State Penitentiary. With armed guards protecting us on both sides, we decided the area had to be safe. That's important to responsible parents.

The park itself has great hiking and a nice secluded, natural feel. The campground is lush, by campground standards. Raised, gravel tent platforms, with large metal fire rings and dry wood available at a central shed. Sturdy, clean picnic tables, charcoal grills and plenty of trash receptacles spread around. Best of all, the large bathroom facility was heated and had hot water for morning showers.

Now, I love camping, and can “rough it” if I need to, but I’ve tried it both ways and I have to tell you: getting up to a hot shower is a great thing on a cold fall morning. That shower, more than anything, makes Frozen Head my favorite place to camp. It spoiled me.

When the kids were very young, we left them with family when we camped. It’s too hard to keep them away from the danger of the fire and keep them quiet in the tent. We learned this lesson the hard way with Shelby when I spent most of one long, cold night sitting in the car, hoping that the windows and metal would keep her cries from waking other campers. It was miserable and one of our worst camping experiences.

Not THE worst, however. I will write about the night that my buddy Thaddeus kept us awake all night, but not today. (I’m also open to a bribe if he would prefer that story remain unwritten. College is expensive).

As soon as they could handle the camping experience (usually around age three), we started taking the girls with us. Frozen Head became known as the place with the “big rock,” because of a large boulder that sat across from the bathrooms. Close to ten feet high at its summit and nearly thirty feet long, the girls learned that they could climb the rock and view the entire campground. As usual, I believe it was Ashlyn who first made the attempt. Even at a young age she was fearless and scrambled up the rock like a little monkey. Shelby, who inherited my desperate hesitation for all things precarious, followed soon after, but much more slowly, exact with each hand grip and foot hold.

We always gathered plenty of wood and at night we sat around the fire, laughing and telling stories, but also just enjoying the escape from technology and the world. I loved to watch the girls slow down, sitting in our folding chairs or on a log and staring quietly into the crackling embers. They never once complained that they were bored.

Many times we found ourselves camping in the month of October, on or near Halloween. The girls would carve pumpkins on the table in the afternoon and then put candles in them at night so that we could ward off the spooky spirits of the woods. One year, while camping with friends, a jack-o-lantern was placed in the basket of a bicycle, and as it was ridden through the campground in the dark of the night, it looked like it was floating; the dancing flame inside making the cracked grin and pointy eyes visible and haunting from a long ways off.

I am always the first to get up when we camp, starting the fire again and heating water for coffee. I don’t mind though, it’s a Dad thing. I do most of the cooking, and I enjoy that too. Breakfast in the outdoors is special. There is nothing like the smell of bacon frying over an open fire. Of course, it’s usually so cold that be the time we eat, both the bacon and the eggs have some frost on them, but it’s all a part of the experience.

I am looking forward to camping this Fall. We are going to make it happen. It’s a priority for us. I’ve got room for a lot more memories in my blanket.