A Campfire Tale
Missing the great outdoors and the Poop Tent we left behind
I can’t stand dirt on my hands. I change my shirt immediately if it gets wet while washing dishes. I’m a mosquito magnet, I wear a silk bonnet to bed to protect my curly hair, and I have a recurring nightmare about being unable to locate a toilet. Consequently, it came as a significant surprise that I fell in love with camping.
We first gave it a shot during the height of the pandemic, when being alone in the woods seemed like a good idea. In deference to my aversion to dirty hands, we tip-toed into the venture by renting a yurt for a weekend on some couple’s Pennsylvania farm. The yurt was roomy, had a real bed with blankets and a wood-burning stove. There was even a little outhouse.
I did just fine – until the temperature dropped to 36 degrees Fahrenheit and the damn stove wouldn’t stay lit. We made a midnight escape back to our own bed and functioning heating system. But we were undeterred and rented another yurt in warmer weather. This outing was so successful that we decided to go all-in by investing in our own equipment. Even if I had reservations at this point, the idea of all that shopping kept me in the game.
Don’s priority was to find a tent tall enough to stand up in. Mine was figuring out how to accommodate my nightly bathroom runs out in the wild. We met those challenges with an orange two-room, 6-person tent and a camping toilet with its own little closet-sized shelter, which we named The Poop Tent. I became an expert at pitching the tents, gathering kindling, building a campfire and cleaning the dry toilet.
For two years we pitched that big tent in campgrounds along the East Coast. Our favorites were the nights we settled among the immense trees in Sebago Lake State Park, in Maine, and within a quick walk from the most luxurious campground bathrooms in Kejimkujik National Park, Nova Scotia.
The absolute best part about the whole adventure was the kitchen. We modeled it after one created by Don’s dad when his family used to pile the five kids into their station wagon to sleep in the woods. We bought a big Rubbermaid container, turned it on its side and outfitted it with drawers and compartments. Everything you could possibly need was in that thing. It even had its own dishwashing station with tubs, sponges and a hand pump for rinsing. It was the best camp kitchen in the world and I loved it dearly.
But we couldn’t bring any of it with us to France.
It completely doused the campfire in my heart to sell or donate everything we had carefully gathered and curated: tent, air mattress, indoor/outdoor rug, folding tables, sleeping bags, lanterns, camp stove, and my adorable little kitchen.
Our travels since moving to France have taken us to magical places, like the Rose Granite Coast, in Brittany, and Rovaniemi, Lapland. We’ve stayed in cozy hotels and fabulous AirBnbs. One accommodation in Helsinki even had a sauna in the bathroom. What has been missing, though, are evenings in front of a campfire and quiet mornings making breakfast on a propane burner.
I have not given up hope of re-creating a camping life of some fashion here in France. It will be a bit more challenging than it was when we owned a car and plenty of storage space in Philly. (To fit all that camping gear into the Hyundai, Don had to remove the backseat and add a cargo carrier on the hitch. I don’t think they’ll let us do that with a rental.) On the plus side, it seems like the rules about where to pitch a tent or park the camper are a bit on the laissez-faire side in these parts. Maybe you will be sleeping in a parking lot, or perhaps at the edge of the surf on a beach. Next time you watch the Tour de France, take note of the tents and campers teetering precariously on hillsides beside the course.
We did get to scratch the camping itch a bit last summer when we spent a night in a wolf refuge in central Brittany. We camped in the refuge’s huge yurt, which had an outhouse that I didn’t have to clean myself. It was a bit more lux than we were used to: They served us a beautiful dinner and scrumptious breakfast. Our sleep was serenaded by the howls of the 14 wolves on site.
I’d love to pursue other camping, or camping-adjacent, activities here in France, but they won’t be the same. No matter how much shopping I would get to do, I don’t think I will be able to re-create – or find a place to store – that camp kitchen and Poop Tent.
Nothing can really top your first realization that you can live happily with wet sleeves and dirty hands. When I have those nostalgic yearnings for our US camping trips, there is one thing that snaps me out of them: The memory of the young father who bought the tent from us in Philadelphia. A few days after the exchange, he sent Don a photo of him and his three tow-headed daughters, beaming inside the tent during their first camping trip. As we try to find a “tent” of our own here in France, it’s nice to imagine our old one giving those kids happy memories of their own travels.
"Even if I had reservations at this point, the idea of all that shopping kept me in the game." Smiled at this! What a lovely reminiscence of outdoor adventures--I had no idea!
My first ex-husband and I used to camp a lot, when we first got married. It was a great way to travel on a budget. I must admit that I discovered I'm too much of a "princess" to really enjoy it. I used to find it fun to camp at Girl Scout camp, for two weeks, every summer as I was growing up. Somehow, as an adult, worrying about my nails and my hair and bugs crawling on me and waking up in a sleeping bag, always feeling damp, with frizzy morning hair. it just didn't hold the same thrill. Two things cured me of camping forever. Once summer, my ex and I camped up the east coast of New England, starting in Newport Rhode Island, and going up to Martha's Vineyard and Nantucket. That was the week a hurricane followed us up the coast. One night, it rained so hard, we had to pull up stakes and literally go door to door on Martha's Vineyard, at every B & B in Oaks Bluff (the nearest town to where we were camping) and ask if they had an available room (there were no cellphones back in the late 70's, to call ahead). We finally found a place to stay, in the tiny attic of one of the tiny cottage houses on the island. I thought THAT would have been the last time, but no. My ex talked me into one more time after we had moved to NJ, not too far from Medford Lakes. We drove to the Pine Barrens of the NJ shore and had made a reservation at a state forest where they had "rough" sites. By the time we arrived, it was pitch black outside. As we put up our tent, and unloaded the car, our only light was our flashlights. The light attracted the largest beetles I had ever seen (until we moved to Florida, where the palmetto bugs are almost as big as a cow (ok, an exaggeration, I admit) . The beetles seemed to like me and they "attacked" me clinging to my long hair, my jeans, my jacket, . I am someone who doesn't like tiny bugs. These were at least 1" in diameter and all over me. I could "feel" them walking all over me. Gives me goosebumps just thinking about it now. My ex husband had to continually knock them off off me, until we had everything set up and I could hide in the tent (after he checked the sleeping bag for more of them). I was traumatized by the entire experience. At the same time, I was worrying about snakes and other creatures we couldn't see. Worst night ever. The next morning, we woke up to the most beautiful sunny day, but I had been so scared from the night before, I insisted that we pack it all up and drive back to Lumberton, NJ, where we were living by that time. That was it. Cured me of any "tolerance" for camping I ever had. By then, my ex and I had successful professional careers and were certainly earning more than enough to pamper ourselves at nice hotels and charming B & B's with advance reservations. On occasion, a few times, I have seen photos of friend's travels to fancy "glamping" places, and for a split second, I'd considered trying "glamping" but, no.. the memory of the beetle attack, tells me...no, don't do it. Clearly we have had quite different experiences camping.