We took our daughter camping for the first time when she was 1 1/2. That's a very easy age to take your children camping, actually, because they are super entertained by rocks and sticks. We didn't take her camping again until this year, age six, for no other reason than, uh, we just kinda didn't. We went other places instead. Places with things like hotels. And amenities.
This year, she asked us if we could make s'mores. Real s'mores. And sleep under the stars. Seeing no reason not to, we pulled out our ridiculous ten person tent, our emergency kit full of supplies, and we hit the road to camp for a couple of nights. It was less spontaneous than that, because my husband and I are not spontaneous people, so we had our meals planned out and I had portioned shampoo and dishsoap in little tiny containers, but we slept in a tent on the ground in a place that didn't have showers and where you have to pee in a stinking hole, so that has to count for something. We were near a rushing river and it was a beautiful, soothing sound that lulled us peacefully to sleep. We were woken, ever so gently, by the sound of a native bird, the raven... AT FOUR THIRTY IN THE CURSE WORD MORNING. Our dear, sweet child popped up in her sleeping bag on the chilly, hard ground and said, "OH! A raven! It's time to get up." (Bonus points, little one, for knowing what bird you heard) Her father and I looked at each other in sleepy horror, and said, "No, it's not. It is NOT time to get up. You've got the wrong bird. You're thinking of roosters. On a farm. Go back to sleep." However, this is the thing you need to know about our child. She is not a sleeper. If she is woken up, that's it. She's done. She's good to go. It doesn't matter if we stayed up well into the dark hours of summer night eating the blandest of candy, the toasted marshmallow. She is up and not going back to sleep because A DANG RAVEN MADE A SOUND AND THEN SHUT UP FOR THE REST OF THE DAY. Guess what else? Campgrounds have rules. Rules like: shut the heck up until 7 am, which is a totally reasonable time to get up, and what time the rest of the birds start chirping, because the rest of the birds don't suck. We laid in the tent and shushed her until 7 am, when she burst out of the tent, singing and dancing and joyful. We were the first campers up and I'm not exaggerating. We repeated the same thing the next morning but we'd gone to bed a little earlier, because we were a little wiser.
Camping with an exhausted six year old is still fun, though, and I think everyone should camp (really camp) when their kids are young, if for no other reason than they need to know how lucky they are to have toilets that flush and to appreciate their bed. When the novelty of s'mores, sleeping on the rock hard ground under the ethereal glow of a surprisingly bright glowstick, eating crap cereal I wouldn't otherwise buy out of tiny boxes, and making friends behind the pit toilets with the other children wore off, our two nights were up and we returned with a child who kissed her bed, the floor and declared her love for the toilet. We came home with memories, appreciated nature in its majestic glory, and taught our child to be grateful for modern conveniences. I don't know why, but I can't wait to do it again soon.
