The location is J's surprise because this is an anniversary trip delayed a few weeks because I was working. I haven't really been camping in 4 years, and that makes me weep bitter tears of deprivation and longing.
When I was a kid we went for several weeks every summer, and it was so incredibly great. I have pictures of me practicing out in the woods along some Alaskan highway. The sheer 80's-ness of my permed hair and enormous tee roped in with a black patent leather belt buckle the size of a Buick is a sight to behold.
I used to think camping wasn't camping if there were parking lots and picnick tables involved. We did it old school: backwoods Montana & podunk arctic river access were our forte. Now we live where there are too many people and you need a reservation for a spot. A reservation!
While I really do look forward to taking him along, we are leaving the kidlet with his preferred caregivers for the weekend. Otherwise I know I'd be waking up in a sweat, convinced I'd rolled on top of him or that he'd been stolen by a pack of meth-heads from my sleeping hands. I know it makes no sense, but I can see the whole thing play out like a badly concieved episode of CSI.
Did I ever tell you about the time a bear stepped on my sister's head while she slept in a tent with my parents? (AHHHH! Do NOT google bear & tent: there are a LOT of bear attacks happening to folks with access to the internet. EWWWW!) She didn't even wake up, but I would bet Mom and Dad sustained grave injuries to their Holy Crap reflex nodules.
Merry Memorial Day! Happy Summer! See you on the flipside good buddy, 10-4.