I can count the times I went tent camping on one hand. This column is about one of those times.
A 1986 Women-only trip took me to Michigan and a campout in the wild on an island.
I remember walking along the shoreline and almost falling into the water when a gust of wind took me off my feet. That same gusty wind rushed through our tent that night. It was quite an adventure.
I don’t think I’ll change my mind about tenting. I’m too old for roughing it.
I’ll gladly leave those adventures to younger people.
I prefer a good bed, electricity, and a fully functioning bathroom.
FYI: when it came time to go to the Grand Hotel for our reserved rooms, they didn’t want to let this motly group of women campers in. We clashed with their decor. Eventually, after having us sit on the front steps, they finally let us in as long as we hurried through their entrance hall. — Eventually, we cleaned up and changed to appropriate garb and blended in with their other guests. The crazy thing was that I prefered the rough camping to the hotel setting.
Until next time, that’s it from Sunnybook Farm.
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