I’m not sure when tenting got hard.
We go every summer with our blue Coleman tent and our blow-up mattress, our matches and our firewood and we drive the west with its snowy peaks and its turquoise lakes. Black bear sightings on the side of the road and cars piled for miles to see the family of mountain goats. We make fire for breakfast, lunch and supper and we cook eggs and bacon, steaks and s’mores. We pull out the bags of Jalapeño chips and drink mugs of Trent’s homemade beer.
When Trent and I were newlyweds, we had a small pop-up tent we used for hiking and now we have a stand-up sized one with a partition, our two small boys on a blue blow-up mattress one side and us on our tan Roots one. We used to bring a Geocaching GPS and poker chips, and now we bring children’s bikes and sand toys.
We still go hiking but most of it’s spent waiting for little legs to catch up or for little fingers to feed the squirrels.
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