Nobody explained about the stump

Camping season is now in full swing. One of my favorite pastimes, is driving around Brunet Island State Park, with my daughter, Hannah, to see how many diehard enthusiasts are taking advantage of the beautiful sites. Unfortunately, I am not a camper.

It was the summer I was entering sixth grade, that I got my first taste of experiencing the great outdoors. I was so excited…my very first camping trip! I envisioned sitting around the campfire, singing songs, while roasting hot dogs on a stick over a toasty fire, ending with gooey S’Mores.

The trip didn’t quite match my naïve long-dreamt of rainbow with unicorns and bunnies, with doves flying overhead version.

My parents had recently purchased a used pop-up camper from one of Dad’s childhood classmates. She and her husband were upgrading, neglecting to mention the pop-up was not exactly in pristine condition. We had to have a sturdy ball and hitch welded to the bumper of the car to pull the albatross.

The camper was heavy and caused the hitch to scrape the pavement any time we pulled in, or out, of a parking lot, or through low areas.

We were loaded to the gills the morning we set out. Dad was driving, Mom was sitting next to him and my brother, Tim, was sitting in the front passenger seat. My sister, Bethie, and I were jammed in the back seat, surrounded by pillows, blankets, a bag of snacks, flashlights, bug spray and an array of clothing for an entire week, geared toward any Wisconsin weather.

After driving eight hours, with an occasional stop for food and restroom breaks, we arrived at our destination in High Bridge. Our camping site was on land my parents purchased, because Dad’s dream was to build a log cabin home and live there. The trip actually had a dual purpose: we were going to start putting up a fence around our acreage, while we camped.

One entire week, I couldn’t wait.

Apparently, the week we had chosen, was during the rainy season. It absolutely poured, five out of the seven days. The first night, my imagined roaring fire, was in reality, a weakly sputtering log that was a challenge to keep lit during the deluge of rain.

The hot dogs roasting on a stick turned into lukewarm, slightly rainwatered-down Dinty Moore beef stew, served in a Styrofoam cup, eaten within the confines of the car, while staring bleakly out at the uncooperative elements. That was actually the best meal I had ever eaten. I still love beef stew and remember the anticipation of my first camping sojourn, any time I fix it on a dreary day.

I was ecstatic to sleep in a tent for the very first time. (What was I thinking?) To begin with, we were wannabe campers, not possessing the necessary gear we needed for our time in the wilderness. We didn’t own a single sleeping bag and the pop-up had one full-size mattres, with the tent canvas stretching out from that.

Dad claimed the mattress while Mom slept in the car, since she happened to have a horrible toothache and didn’t want to disturb any of us. No one, except Dad, got much sleep anyway, as we found out the hard way, that the gem of a pop-up had multiple holes that needed patching, so it was a challenge finding a spot where there wasn’t rain dripping inside.

It seemed like any place I chose to place my blanket, there was invariably a rock quarry underneath it. Couple that with sodden bedding, it did not make for a restful night’s slumber.

Another aspect that I hadn’t even considered, was no bathroom with a flushing toilet.

I would have swooned at the luxury of an outhouse. Our bathroom was the dreaded “stump.” Pretty sure that was not mentioned a single time while planning our fun-filled excursion. The stump was located in the midst of an overgrown, weed-tangled orchard.

It was a workout just trying to reach the sketchy location, having to wade through knee-high grass, thistles and blackberry canes. Ostensibly, Dad had chosen that particular stump to afford us a modicum of privacy. Privacy from what?

We were out in the middle of nowhere, with the nearest civilization at least a half hour away. In retrospect, probably not the wisest location, as black bears were prevalent in the area and what better place to forage for food, than last year’s wintered over apples, rotting on the ground within easy reach.

I have to admit, I was extremely jumpy, imagining that every deer I heard stepping on dry twigs, was a bear, headed my way. And I have never been adept at hovering, anyway, when no indoor facilities are readily available. When I was little and we would go for long car rides, it was always on back country roads, which necessitated backing up to the car bumper to hold on, while squatting to go to the bathroom.

I could never quite master that feat and usually ended up going all over my pants, and having it run down my leg. My biggest concern with the stump, was I had an unreasoning fear that some overly curious, nosy snake would make an appearance, therefore disrupting my privacy, not to mention my composure.

I feel like I have neglected that one area of Hannah’s education. Now that Hannah is an adult, she has gone camping several times with friends and came to the conclusion that she is not a camper either. I’m not sure how she can confi dently say that, when she has never had the pleasure of experiencing the stump herself.

A person technically can’t be considered a seasoned camping expert, unless they have had the dubious distinction of being introduced to a designated stump, at least once in their life.