“I Like Kids, But Not Yours"

Two weeks ago, I was imposed upon to write a story for one of our email newsletters. I did so, and it was titled “Trailer Travails.” The story apparently struck a nerve as I received several emails and comments from readers. One day, while explaining my love/hate relationship with camping trailers in general and my confusion of recently wanting to purchase another trailer, I was reminded of something.

Below is a story which appeared in my local newspaper many years ago when I was a cop moonlighting as a freelance outdoor writer, those heady days when I was paid $15 per story. Looking at all the trouble which went into each column, my hourly rate was approximately three cents per hour. But it was fun and paid for my ammo.

I’m sharing this as a follow-up, as it likewise garnered many comments and more than one threat of bodily harm when published.

Ahh, the camping life! Wholesome days of hiking, nights around the campfire, fellowship, outdoor beauty and Mick Jagger wailing “I can’t get NO satisfaction” at dawn. Let me explain.

Recently, the Wheat clan purchased a Recreational Vehicle and joined the free-wheeling campground lifestyle. Under orders from a long-suffering spouse who was tired of waking up floating in the occasional in-tent swimming pool, I purchased a used but tidy pop-up tent-camper. Now we have joined the band of happy vagabonds, roaming from park to park in search of electrical hookups and clean restrooms.

I never thought we would ever own any type of RV. One week-long tent camping excursion last year to Tennessee changed this assumption. After several days of hot, rainy weather, we were transformed into the prototype of the Dysfunctional Family Outdoor Playset: irritable father grumbling threats, irritable mother complaining of insect wounds, irritable children being irritable.

Since that vacation, the word “camp” had not been spoken in our household. However, when the camper passed our way, we jumped at the chance to sleep where snakes can’t. Unfortunately spending time in campgrounds has reminded me of the reasons I quit camping in such places in the first place.

Sadly, my taste for outdoor living runs more toward windswept mountain ridges or quiet wooded glades rather than the chaos of the State Park canvas jungle. Watching the antics of fellow campground residents, I realized many people are convinced the rules of genteel living can, and should, be suspended in the outdoors.

Therefore, I have therefore decided to put on a Miss Manners frock — a tasteful camouflage pattern — and present my version of the 10 Rules of Campground Etiquette.

1. The outdoors is not a giant motel room intended for fraternity-like beer bashes.

2. The sounds of nature are vastly preferable to the Rolling Stones blaring at daybreak over a 500,000-watt speaker system apparently stolen from the Indianapolis Motor Speedway.

3. The burning of picnic tables, trail markers and wet cardboard food containers produce noxious fumes, casting a pall over the campground similar to Mexico City in August. Here’s a tip: buy wood from the campground host.

4. Along the same lines — If the air temperature is so high birds are bursting into flame while inflight and nuns are openly cursing like sailors, do you really need a campfire?

5. I like children, but not yours. Please keep the little miscreants in your own area unless otherwise invited.

6. If you arrive late, attempt to set up as unobtrusively as possible. Lying awake last week, we could not decide whether our neighbor was pitching camp or conducting a new symphonic opus titled “Four Movements for trashcan lid, hammer and loud voices.”

7. Dogs add spice to camping, as in, “Oooh, what’s on the bottom of your shoe?!?”

8. Have I mentioned the Rolling Stones at 6 AM?

9. A man whose stomach resembles a bucket of drywall spackle should wear a shirt in public. It goes without saying shorts should be kept pulled up while squatting during campsite chores. Remember, “Crack Kills.”

10. Stealing picnic tables is a capital offense.

I do beg your pardon for the acidic tone of the previous few paragraphs. While I try to keep the overall proceedings light, the non-social behavior among campers is truly amazing. Hopefully, some readers might see the error of their ways and strive to clean up their act so camping can be a relaxing and joyous experience for everyone.

On the other hand, after reading this poison-pen missive, they will probably just lob beer cans and burning pine cones at our camper. This could cause the trailer to burn, and we couldn’t go camping anymore, which would be a terrible, terrible tragedy.

Yep, a terrible tragedy …

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