Camping Recommendations, Scholarly Jews, & Digressions

Camping is fun. Bah, you say? You simply haven't found the proper place, the proper equipment, or the proper camping partner. When I camp, I prefer to tag along with Ball & Chain. We pretend we are going together, as a family, even, but he does, like, everything. It is so very satisfying! I do not know why he does everything, and I do not know why building a fire counts as the thing that I do, but it does. Hee hee hee. We have fire-starter, for "post-feminism's" sake (nosuchthing, really), so I just do the stuff I was taught at private school go-away-and-learn -about-nature trips, and I stay warm.

Here is what you need to do if you want to have fun: first, go somewhere that has clean flush toilets. Otherwise, well. Not a literal well, just, I am not sure of how much adventure one wants. Next: a hot shower is good, but I'll admit that you should bring little plastic flip-flops and a certain blind-eye attitude toward soap residue and anonymous hairs that I obviously don't truly have. The blind-eye, so to speak. But I digress, and in opposition to the case I am trying to make!

Have a partner who loves to camp and has a strong back. He or she must be good-natured, and come from a hearty WASP-ish background. Okay, if you are a Jew who actually camped, I congratulate you, I just didn't know our tribes did that in the seventies, from whence I hailed. Actually, I hailed in 1964, but the seventies and suburban temple is more relevant here. Not, however, in the woods. Nothing mandatory whatsoever, and certainly not 3 afternoons of learning to read Hebrew, an excellent language I'm sure, but if I understood a word, the reading might have been more helpful. (I know not of the relationship between contemporary camping and ethnicity or race, save one qualitative sociological observation: campers of our ilk are not in banking.)

Yeesh, bear with me here - not a black bear, but they may be around, too: I have just found some lovely sites reminding me of the many times Jews prayed and studied in private, but also gorgeous renderings of children studying Hebrew in the woods. And contrary to the above-authored blurb, I am reading a thus-far excellent book by Allegra Goodman called Katerskill Falls about observant Jews summering and studying. And although Ball & Chain practices Buddhism, the three others in our little family, the actual Jews, including me, read profusely while we were there. So we were quite Jewish about it, and I stand self-corrected. Nevertheless, I leave my error intact, as it is along the lines of Jews not being athletes, which is such crap, and if I am going to Say Something, I might as well air the whole mishegas out.

Yikes, more digression!

The campsite should absolutely not have tons of RVs, bare-bellied teens smoking as you drive in, or a plethora of activities going on. Red flag! If you see dogs, excellent. Matching dobermans, beer cans, no. People actually making fires, yes. A dead deer on the roof, perhaps not.

Lastly, try to find a place that is a state park. The sites should be fairly private and flat. The lake and sprouting little trails and creeks should be a short walk from the site. At night, be sure to look up, look up, and see the stars. During the day, look up again at the under-shapes of the leaves and the changing sky behind. Sit your ass down in a folding chair - a must-have for every pseudo-camper - and watch the leaves sweep around in the wind. Fall asleep if you like.

Here's what to eat: soak your corn, unhusked, in water for a bit, and then wrap it, still unhusked, in aluminum foil and put it over a raging fire. After a few minutes, it will be very hot, and the taste: sublime. The husk and threads will pull off easily. Your marshmallows need to be near hot coals to brown perfectly. Take your time, so the insides melt. If you want something extra-good for your s'mores, put a small piece of chocolate inside the marshmallow. Yummy.

I saw a small wildflower, three or four in a tiny orange-red bunch, on top of one stem. It bloomed and faded over the days there. Big Kid learned how to play cribbage and Rugelah talked a lot about the many shades of green. It was our 17th wedding anniversary, and the 20th anniversary of the year we met. Thinking back, I realized that I have been a rather persnickety wife. I told Ball and Chain, as we sat by the fire, and he bunched up his face and asked what 'persnickety' meant. When I said a bit too picky about small things, he sort of shrugged. Ironically, the realization itself was a small thing, and we both let it fly away with the crackling smoke.