It's high summer in Washington and time for the Chambers clan to leave their oppressively plush and air-conditioned surroundings and venture into the great outdoors. Following experience gained on earlier family outings, the planners for this year's expedition chose a venue only an hour's drive from home. The journey itself was mostly uneventful, although somewhat complicated by the fact that Cieran had been informed we would be camping on a mountain this year. In vain he scanned the horizon through the car windows, looking for the towering, snowcapped pinnacle of barren rock that would be our destination. Since most ``mountains'' in this part of Maryland barely rise above your average Burger King, he was inevitably in for a disappointment. After much discussion, he grudgingly accepted that we would be spending the next few days on one of the low green bumps gently rising above the surrounding bushes rather than perched on the north face of Annapurna.
After battling through waves of commuter traffic, bypassing dozens of strip malls, acres of fast food emporiums, and countless drive-through establishments of one sort and another, we exited the freeway and set off up a narrow winding road toward the apex of a thickly wooded hill. Ten minutes later, we reached the top and were pleasantly surprised to find ourselves in what appeared to be an authentic campground hidden in the heart of suburban Maryland.
Our last camping trip consisted mostly of huddling together on a frigid, windswept beach beneath a thin canvas dome battling near hurricane force winds that threatened to tear everything to shreds at all hours of the day and night. This time we chose a more comfortable, and decidedly more windproof abode in the form of a log cabin. Our particular cabin was pleasantly situated at the extreme end of the campsite, nestled amongst tall, hundred-year-old trees, home to playful families of chipmunks by day, and clouds of glowing fireflies by night.
Staying in a cabin proved to be a very comfortable experience, almost too luxurious to qualify as camping. Our two-room lodge even came with several electrical outlets. Cieran quickly pressed these into service to power his portable DVD player, so he could while away the duller sections of the day watching Tom and Jerry cartoons. Cieran was also thrilled to discover the bedroom had a set of bunkbeds and immediately called the top bunk for himself. Mommy was relegated to the lower bunk, which probably suited her just fine, being six months pregnant and not about to shimmy up and down the ladder every hour to visit the bathroom.
After several hours spent unloading crates of supplies from the car, and a few minutes setting up camp, Daddy organized a party to collect firewood. According to the official park rules, any tree that was dead, dying, or looking a little under the weather was fair game for firewood, at least as far as Daddy could remember. The more experienced campers in the neighbouring cabins had come prepared with saws, axes, dynamite and other tools of the lumberjacking trade. They were soon hauling truck-sized logs back to camp and constructing multi-storey bonfires that could be seen from the next county. Our own party, armed only with blunt silverware and bad language, had to be content with more a modest affair. After an extensive search, Daddy managed to construct a three inch high pile of leaves and twigs that blazed brightly for approximately thirty seconds before fizzling out. Mommy dashed inside to gather marshmallows and toasting forks, and returned just in time to see the last glowing embers float away on the breeze.
That evening, Mommy worked miracles with the campstove and the limited supply of dishware to conjure up a culinary masterpiece. Cieran was dispatched around the camp to announce that dinner was served, and the three of us sat in a circle around the fire pit, plates piled high with food, watching the fireflies dancing through the trees and wishing the fire had stayed alight just a little longer. Following camping tradition the world over, beans featured prominently on the menu, and Cieran and I proceeded to re-enact the famous fireside scene from Blazing Saddles to the great amusement of all the males present.
The next day we set off to explore the surrounding region. A short drive led to a small lake nestled at the base of the mountain. The lake had a roped off area for toddlers and other swimmers of a nervous disposition, and was flanked by two strips of beach sand, trucked in a great expense from an exotic Caribbean location (or possibly Home Depot). Cieran enjoyed the artificial beach almost as much as the real ones of his aquaintence, although it proved frustratingly difficult to get just the right consistency of sand and lakewater to build a perfect sandcastle. Never known for the longness of his fuse, Cieran soon expressed his contempt for the whole business by flinging bucket, shovel, and sand at high velocity in different directions, earning a stern look from the lifeguard perched above him only a few yards away.
Matters improved greatly when Cieran discovered that our resort location boasted not merely a lake and an artificial beach, but also a playground complete with an elaborate climbing frame. Now here was something he could really sink his teeth into (not literally to the knowledge of this reporter). He spent the next hour blissfully clambering up ladders, crawling through tunnels, slithering down slides to land on his butt in the sand, and then clambering right back up the same slide to repeat the whole cycle again.
As many readers may attest, camping is an often hazardous experience. On our second evening, Cieran's name was added to the long list of city folk who have come to grief in the woods. Early in the evening, Cieran was standing by the picnic table supervising Mommy's dinner preparations, and demanding frequent progress reports on the status of his chicken nuggets. Eventually satisfied that everything was progressing satisfactorily, he abruptly turned away, and ran smack into the edge of the table. Picnic tables are wonders of ergonomic engineering in many ways, perfectly designed to cater to the average adult's mealtime needs. For three year olds, though, they leave much to be desired, not least because the table top is inconveniently located right at head height. This makes it both difficult to peer over the top, and provides an ever present collision hazard for the unwary. Sadly, Cieran spent the rest of the trip sporting a black eye and puffed up cheek as a result of this particular encounter.
Alas, Daddy too was injured in the line of duty, badly stubbing his toe on day one. This was unfortunate on two levels: firstly because it gave rise to a raucous outburst of unrepeatable utterings, which sadly were immediately repeated by a junior member of the party. More importantly, it meant Daddy performed very poorly on certain essential tasks from then on, such as chasing Cieran in circles around the outside of the cabin, clambering over rocks at a nearby waterfall, and carrying tired individuals back to the car afterwards.
All good things must come to an end sooner or later, and after two wonderful days and nights, it was time to pack up the car and embark on the long journey home. The news of our impending departure elicited various emotions from those involved, necessitating an emergency trip to the playground in order achieve a consensus. After that it was merely a brief ride back down the freeway to home and a nice cup of hot tea.
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