I survived my camping trip, and I do mean survived because I seriously thought I would perish, right there in the wilderness, on the first night, because it rained all day and all night Friday and sporatically during the day on Saturday. And when I say "rain," I'm not referring to the warm misty rain so common in the summer months. The type of rain that once you see it, you think to yourself, "Oh, I can still work out in my garden" or "No need to turn back from our evening stroll around the neighborhood." No, the rain we had this weekend was not this kind of rain at all. We put up our tent in a torrential downpour.
So, right off the bat, my camping experience was not going well. I was cold. I was wet. I was miserable. After the tent was put up, we visited the bathroom facilities. There were multiple flies on the toilet seats. All of them. I was unpleased.
But things took a turn for the better once my friend and her boyfriend arrived. You see, once we returned to our site, we sat in our car and watched it rain. It was either sit there, or sit in the tent. My friend arrived, and brought with her this amazing awning/tent covering thing, which you place over a picnic table or chairs. It provides shelter from the elements! Whoo-Hoo. Friend and boyfriend put up their tent. Then friend, boyfriend, husband, and I put up the awning/tent thing. We ate dinner. We made a fire. We roasted marshmellows, which I ate, while the others ate smores, which I don't like because I don't like chocolate. (I know. I am a freak.) And all was right in my world.
Until bedtime. Sleeping in a tent, on an air mattress, was uncomfortable. It was still raining, and the tent was damp and musty-smelling. However, what truly made my night something out of a low-budget horror flick were the slugs. Yes, slugs. Slugs decided that the top of my tent would make a lovely resting place for their Friday evening. So, with the inside of the tent illuminated by the fire still burning outside, I watched as these slimy creatures crawled around the tent above me, while husband and friend's boyfriend attempted to flick them off. Which worked for about an hour. Then, they returned.
Saturday was a better day. The rain abated. I had a grilled cheese sandwich cooked in this sandwich-maker contraption over the fire. It was awesome. And Sunday morning was just beautiful. About 65-70 degrees. Sun shining through the trees. Peaceful and quiet.
So, while I'm still scratching at mosquito bites in places I didn't think were possible to be bitten (including my right palm, under my left thumb, and three located in perfectly aligned vertical order on my left leg), camping wasn't that bad. Except for Friday night, which was a nightmare. My husband was very patient with me, and did not snap at me once, despite all my whining and complaining. I did not die, as I thought I would. But I think it might be some time before I give camping in the great outdoors another try.