I'm Not A Real Camper

Yesterday I reached a personal goal of 500 pageviews on my blog.  Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, to the people who have taken the time to check out what Peace In A Tin Can is all about.

Serious writers and bloggers may think 500 views in one month is no big deal, but since I am new to blogging it is a very big deal for me.  In my excitement, I sent a text message to a few friends sharing my reached goal, and was surprised to hear such encouraging and positive comments back from them.  I floated through my afternoon with a warm, fuzzy feeling in my heart, proud of myself for moving on from a lost job that I loved to something positive.  Writing has been a dream of mine since I read "A Little Princess" by Frances Hodgson Burnett when I was 8 years old.  I was so drawn into the story that I promised myself one day I would write a story that filled someone's head with dreams and pushed them into doing something they never thought they could do.  I still have that dream, but sadly no story to tell yet, so I am dipping my toes in the literary waters by blogging.

The friends who responded to my text were all young people who have worked for me in the past at the Lake.  Because we worked long hours in the summer season, I got to know these young adults, and I'm pretty sure I earned their respect.  Many of these kids have become close family friends and heros to my kids.  Coming from them, kind words mean so much, since they are all studying for college finals right now and preparing to enter the real world, yet still share in my excitement.  Still riding on that high, I called an old friend, one I rarely see but keep in touch with.  She is a camper as well, and since I had sent her links to my blog I was anxious to hear her reaction.

Her reaction was not what I expected, and left me speechless.  The first thing she asked was what is my blog about.  I guess I can safely assume she is not one of the 500 pageviews.  I told her it's about camping in Michigan, with some personal reflections thrown in for good measure.  Her next comment broke my heart a little bit.  She said,

"But you're not even a real camper."

Huh?  Apparently she thinks that because I camp in the tin can, I am not a real camper.  She went on to say things like microwaves and air conditioning have no place in the woods, a comfortable bed is not camping, and so on.

It occurs to me that my friend has paid no attention whatsoever to the things I've been doing the past several years.  I love tent camping.  Shorter trips require nothing more for me than a tent, a sleeping bag, some food and water, and a campfire.  I often seek solitude in the woods and gravitate toward a more rustic experience.  BUT, I also enjoy longer trips in the Airstream.  It should be noted here that my unrestored Airstream is not luxurious.  I do not have air conditioning, the tin can isn't even insulated.  There are holes in the floor.  I added the microwave last year because sometimes it rains and I can't cook over an open fire.  The tin can is basic and simple, a bed inside and a sink where I can wash my face and hands.  My husband graciously had the plumbing re-done, so as of this year I can use the bathroom and shower.  When I camp for two weeks, at some point I need a shower!

Whether I camp in a tent or in the tin can, I am outside all day regardless of the weather.  I ride my bike on single track trails, I hike, I chop wood, I cook over the fire.  I do not sit in my camper and watch TV, I go outside to roam my beloved woods and streams, I wade into lakes and kayak down rivers.  I only go in my camper late at night, after my fire has burned down, to sleep.  I consider that camping.

Truth be told, I consider every person in a campground to be real campers, even the retired folks in the fancy RV's.  They choose to be outside, they embrace the nature around them, they are walking and moving and spending quality time outside.  That's camping.

My friend's comments were hurtful and petty.  I have always considered her to be my oldest and dearest friend and now I'm wondering if that's true.  I don't think she really knows anything about me, who I am and what I do, what matters to me.  I will hesitate to share good news with her again.

Maybe I'm not a real camper.  I like to decorate my campsite with pretty things from home, I can't go camping without my laptop because then I couldn't write.  I prefer sleeping in a tin can, off the ground, snake-free.  I make my bed every day in the tin can, which means I straighten out my sleeping bag and zip it up, because I like a clean and organized area.  As shameful as this is, I bought an antenna for the tin can and go in the camper every day at 5:00pm to watch a fuzzy broadcast of the local news and weather.  I am obsessed with weather.  I actually plan my hikes so I can be at the camper at 5:00pm. But by 5:20, I'm back outside.

I'm not a real camper.  I should be embarrassed that I shower in the tin can in a 3ft. wide space that includes the toilet.  I have to turn the water on and off while I shower, because I only have about 2 minutes of hot water.  Not comfortable, but you won't hear me complaining.  I don't pee outside.  I have a little heater.  Goodness, I even have real dishes…AND a coffee pot that brews automatically at 6:00am every morning.  I am a fake, a fraud, an offense to real campers everywhere.  I deal with it.

So maybe my old friend gave me an hour or two of self-doubt yesterday.  Old habits die hard and it takes little criticism for me to start feeling bad about myself.  Fortunately, my friend Debbie contacted me later with words of support and encouragement, and I moved past the hurt and focused again on looking forward.

I can always count on Debbie.  She is the 5-Star Luxury Resort kinda gal who fought my efforts to get her into my woods for years.  Then a couple of years ago, Debbie was going through a rough time and just needed to get away for a while, so out of pure desperation she joined me for 2 nights on my Fall camping trip.  The 2 nights turned into 4, and Debbie was hooked.  She now accompanies me occasionally, and I am always happy when she joins me.  Of course, Debbie's not a real camper either, she brings wine.

Along with Debbie, and the friends I texted yesterday - Alex and Charles - I have daily support from my husband and children, who believe in me even when I don't.  And I have 500 readers.  That's enough for me.  How lucky am I to have so much support?  I think I can live without the endorsement of all the real campers.

Today, I hope my readers will go outside.  I will think no less of you if getting outside means driving with the car windows down, or just walking to the mailbox.  We all do what we can to enjoy the outdoors, and I am proud of you for trying.  Keep on keeping on, eh?  Have a spectacular day!

Wilderness State Park: A Modern Perspective

Unit Map, Wilderness State Park

My previous post gave a brief history of Wilderness State Park in northern lower Michigan, which is not only interesting but plays a role in the modern day park and how campers and day-use guests enjoy the area.  As stated, most of the area was logged or burnt by fire prior to 1900, leaving only one small stand and scattered trees intact.  Yet, through the efforts of Michigan's outstanding DNR, the area has been allowed to re-grow naturally and now stands as it once did, providing its visitors an opportunity to experience a Michigan landscape as it occurred prior to European settlement.

Every time I drive the 8 mile road into the entrance to Wilderness State Park, I run the risk of losing control of my car because I am so busy looking at the landscape.  It is such a beautiful place, and the thought that I am seeing it almost exactly the same way my ancestors saw it takes my breath away.  The many different eco-systems I pass through were not created by man.  They are a wonder of nature and sustain thousands of different forms of life.  That's pretty cool, would you agree?

I prefer camping in the lower campground, where the lucky few who know how to play the DNR Reservation System can reserve a campsite right on the beach.  The first thing I do upon arriving at my site, before I even set up my tent or unhitch my camper, is walk from my site to the shoreline (it's a short walk!) and stare out at Lake Michigan.  I feel like I've come home!  It never ceases to amaze me how the sandy paths leading to the water are not man-made entirely; The wind sweeps channels through the native dune grasses that naturally carve paths.  The paths may be kept clear from use, but they've always been there.

Once I've set up camp - which, if you know me, you know it takes a while to construct my "glampsite" - I go for a walk on the beach.  One of the nice things about the beach at Wilderness State Park is that's it's sandy, sometimes gravelly, but I have never seen a snake there.  They tend to hide on the more swampy beaches, or along reed-filled inland lakes and streams, but you don't see the snakes on the Northern shoreline of Lake Michigan.  This means I can take my shoes off!

In addition to beach walking, there are 22.75 miles of mapped trails to hike or bike, and metal detecting is permitted in the park, though any items found must be reviewed by park staff and may be retained pending further investigation.  I am always mindful that when I walk the beaches and trails of Wilderness State Park, countless artifacts lie beneath the surface.  It would be amazing to find one, but most likely the park staff would keep it.

Because I have a strong Native American heritage, I feel a connection to this land.  Once, when camping at Wilderness with friends, we met up with a guy who had found a piece of driftwood at the park and fashioned it into something he called a "Spirit Pole".  It is an acknowledgment of the people who came long before us, and is believed to honor the native spirits.  He taught me how to make one and I thoroughly enjoyed planting it beside the campfire and believing my ancestors were with us in spirit.

Every morning of my trip I would ride my bike 2 miles east of the campground, on the road with my faithful (and since departed) dog Murphy.  When we reached our destination, I would climb to the top of a small sand dune overlooking the great lake, let Murphy off his leash, and allow him to run for a bit.  He was a good dog and never strayed too far from me, but the landscape in this particular spot is indicative of much of the Lake Michigan shoreline; sandy open dunes with patches of pines and scrub brush growing out of the dune.  Murphy would weave in and out of the pines, chase mice from the brush, and when he had enough, would come sit next to me, sharing the spectacular view of Lake Michigan.  It was the best way to start my day, peaceful and serene, staring at the water with my dog at my side.  These days, I would be unable to do that; my current dog, Rooney, is a Newfoundland and a naughty one at that.  I could not take him off-leash unless I never wanted to see him again and wanted to risk getting fined by the DNR as Rooney happily swam out in Lake Michigan.

Later in the day I would ride my bike east again and hit the Big Rock Trail or the Hemlock Trail at Mt. Nebo.  Both are great trails, and the last time I was there I had ridden for 6 days straight without seeing a snake.  So when my friends and husband suggested a long group bike ride on our last day there, I was pretty comfortable that I could join them without incident.  I wish I had realized that the grass cutter had preceded us earlier that morning.  We rode up to the Pines campground on top of the hill, saw the buildings that the CCC had built almost a century ago, took the Red Pine Trail past Big Stone Creek and the dam, where I held my breath the entire way ever fearful of snakes, and came back out to the road from the Hemlock Trail.  It was a great ride, I was enjoying the feel of forward movement and laughing with my friends.  As we rode on the road, where the grass cutter had trimmed the tall grasses on the sides of the road just that morning, I looked down and saw it.  A dead snake.  BAM! I am riding faster and faster, panic attack hitting me full force, when I look down and see another one.  My husband sees what is happening and is frantically trying to catch up to me, because he knows I am not breathing and adrenaline is pushing me faster and faster.  The only thing that saved me that day was keeping my feet on my bike pedals (not on the ground) and the kindly old gentleman who passed us in his truck heading back to the campground.  He realized something was wrong and turned back.  My husband lifted me into the cab of the truck, put my bike in the back, and the kind man drove me back to the campsite.  I almost made it through the week without disgracing myself!  What really bothered me, though, was those snakes had been hiding there all week as I happily rode my bike, and only came out when the grass cutter came along.  They were stalking me, I just know it.

Some points of interest, other than snakes, at Wilderness State Park are the CCC-built buildings, the dam, and the many trails.  Also, the majority of the many miles of shoreline consist of wide sandy beaches with scattered cobble, backed by one of the best developed and most diverse forested dune and swale complexes in Michigan, with some spectacular wetland areas mixed throughout, which I avoid for obvious reasons.  The beaches provide some of the habitat in Michigan for the federally endangered piping plover.  The piping plover is a beautiful little bird that nests on the beach, and most of the shoreline in Wilderness is designated protected area as a critical habitat for the bird.  Volunteers guard known nests, and the piping plover is the sole reason why dogs are not allowed anywhere near the beach.  People, too, can inadvertently step on a nest without being aware, and destroy the fragile eggs.  The DNR tracks the birds and protects them as they continue to pair and increase their numbers.

Another point of interest does not come from Mother Nature.  It comes from the general store 1 mile west of the park.  One of the things that brings me back to Wilderness is the Saturday morning glazed donut holes, fresh from the oven at the General Store.  I cannot begin to describe how delicious 2 homemade, warm glazed donut holes are.  Okay, usually I eat 4.  But when I've just returned from my morning ride to find 6 warm nuggets waiting for me, it is like heaven on earth.  I will fill my plate, sit in front of a morning campfire, and listen to the waves as I eat my 8 sweet treats.  Sometimes I have to go for an extra long bike ride to burn off the calories from 10 donut holes, by honestly, even a bike ride can't quite remove the feeling of a dozen warm glazed pastries nesting in my stomach.  Make sure you stop in at the General Store on Saturday morning.  You won't regret it!

On that same trip with friends, we came upon a man on the beach who had 10 kayaks that he allowed people to use for free.  I've said it before, campers are the best people who just want to share their love of the outdoors.  We borrowed a couple of kayaks and paddled around the shores of Lake Michigan for hours, being introduced to an activity that would become a particular interest of mine.  Thanks to the stranger on the beach, I now own a kayak, and plan to discover the blue waters of Lake Huron in it this summer.

If you go to Wilderness State Park - and I hope you do! - go for the unique and varied terrain, the history, the trails, the beach, and the magnificent waters of Lake Michigan.  Experience the donuts, the friendly campers and DNR staff, stunning views and abundant wildlife (except the snakes).  Even though you are not allowed to camp directly on the beach, sometimes you can set your tent up pretty close to the shoreline on the right camp site, put a camp chair next to your tent, and breathe.  After you spend your day swimming, fishing, hiking, biking, discovering and learning, sit in your chair, next to your tent, and look out over the water as the sun sets on another beautiful day.  Sweet dreams, everyone!

NOTE:  For more information on the varied habitats and piping plovers at Wilderness State Park, please go to my source, www.michigan.gov/dnr

Wilderness State Park: An Historical Perspective

You'll always remember your first time.  The first baseball trophy, the first kiss, the first car.  The first time you met your future mate, the first time your child said "Mommy".  For me, the list includes my first camping trip at Wilderness State Park near Cross Village in Michigan.  I make it a point to return there every few years for its miles of Lake Michigan shoreline, untouched wilderness, and many hidden corners to explore.

The lands contained within Wilderness State Park and the waters bordering it are enveloped with history well known in the development of Michigan.  It is without a doubt that the park area was used extensively by the Indians as a haven in times of trouble.  Waugoshance Point was specifically mentioned by Alexander Henry in a journal of his travels.  On June 6, 1763, Henry and three other English prisoners were taken by canoe from Fort Michilimackinac toward Beaver Island.  Because of a heavy fog that morning the Chippewas followed the shoreline westward, periodically sounding four war whoops - one for each English prisoner aboard.  As they reached Waugoshance the Chippewas again gave their four whoops and surprisingly, received an answer from the foggy point of land.  An Ottawa appeared and spoke with the Chippewas, luring them close to land.  Then many Ottawas sprang from cover and charged the canoe, forcibly removing the four English prisoners.  The Chippewas were allowed to go on their way, and eventually the prisoners were escorted to Montreal by the Ottawas and set free.

Big Rock Trail Head

Indian Artifacts have been found in the park and surrounding area, such as arrow and tomahawk heads.  No doubt many more artifacts lie beneath the surface at Wilderness State Park. I may have come across one of these artifacts once while biking in Wilderness State Park.  I had left the Big Stone Trail, which is a moderate hiking and biking trail just east of the lower campground, and was biking in a wooded area, following a deer track.  It was a glorious bike ride, weaving between trees and around roots, rocks, and fallen branches.  I was going along at a pretty good clip, eyes on the ground 5 feet ahead of my front tire, when I came upon a small marshy stream.  Ever fearful of snakes, I increased my speed and plowed right through the stream, going up a shallow incline on the other side.  I was so exhilarated at that point, I wanted to throw my hands in the air and shout "I'm Alive!!!"  for all the woods to hear.  Instead, I glanced up (excuse my language here) and shouted,

"OH SHITTTTTTTTTT!"

About 6 feet in front of me, I was staring dead-on at this:

I was about to hit the end of this tree face first.  I skidded my bike sideways, fell over, then panicked at the thought there might be a snake nearby, hopped up and rode like a bat out of hell out of there.  In hindsight, I suppose that tree fell during some recent storm and lodged itself there, but at that moment, staring it down as I catapulted towards its wicked point, I sincerely felt as if I was staring at an ancient Native American war weapon.  Act of Nature, or Artifact?  Hmmmmmmm.

Even if this is a more recent development in woods weaponry, the very same situation may very well have provided inspiration for our native ancestors as they defended their land in the early 1800's against other tribes and English settlers.  You will never convince me otherwise.

In 1855, Father John Bernard Weikamp established his benevolent, charitable, and religious society of St. Francis at Cross Village.  Eventually 2000 acres of land fell under its domain.  Though the land was used extensively for farming, cattle, and logging, it fell into disrepair upon Father Weikamp's death in 1889 and was finally abandoned in 1896.  For the next 40 years, the land was owned by English settlers operating three large-scale saw mills.

As fires and lumbering operations denuded the land, it became useless to landowners.  In 1902, "One Forty and Surrounding Land" was sold for as little as $1.00.  Much of this land reverted to the state for nonpayment of taxes.  As the years went by, more private holdings came into state ownership through purchase and land exchange.

In 1921 and 1922, a house and outbuildings were constructed to house a resident manager, Frank Lloyd.  In 1928, the lands were turned over to the Parks Division, and the area officially became "Wilderness State Park".  Its first manager was Thayer Denny, followed shortly by Daddy Bronson.

The singlemost time of greatest development at Wilderness State Park occurred during the Depression, with the establishment of the Civilian Conservation Corps (CCC).  Beginning October 1, 1933, A CCC Camp was built on the hill where the present outdoor center now stands.  During their stay until 1937, the CCC established an impressive building record, including all interior roads and bridges, five trail cabins and one trailside shelter, dining hall, a stone and log observation tower, 60ft in height atop Mt. Nebo, a trail system with benches, a 15 acre area cleared for the campground, and the dredging and damming of Big Stone Creek to form Goose Pond.  When the camp was discontinued in 1937, a pit was dug in the camp area and all of the hand tools were buried so they would not be used by local residents and thus create hardship for local merchants.

1937 brought three changes to the park; the burning down of a trail cabin at what is now appropriately called "Burnt Cabin Site", a new park manager by the name of Bill Parker, and with the ending of the CCC program, the beginning of the Works Project Administration (WPA).  In addition to the employment of common laborers, the WPA employed craftsmen such as artists, writers, musicians, teachers, and architects.  WPA workers completed several park projects between 1937 and 1942, including three log dormitory buildings presently in use at the outdoor center and the development of the campground with restroom facilities.  With the bombing of Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, little was done within the park other than maintaining the status quo; however, the old CCC Camp and Waugoshance Point were taken over by the Navy and placed off-limits to civilians.  Between 1942 and 1946 the area was used as a testing ground for the Navy.

Sturgeon Bay

Waugoshance Point North

Sturgeon Bay Sand Dunes

During the postwar years, the area on the hill was used as the Pines campground, while the beach area below was used as a day-use area.  On June 18, 1947 the Conservation Commission established a Game Refuge at Wilderness.  Hunting and trapping were prohibited, but the law was later modified.  Then in 1951, the Conservation Commission dedicated four sites within Wilderness State Park as Preserves;  Crane Island Natural Area Preserve, Sturgeon Bay Preserve, Waugoshance Point Nature Study Preserve, and Big Stone-Cecil Bay Nature Study Preserve.

With that, Wilderness State Park became the park we know today, with continual updates to the campgrounds and bath facilities.  In my next post, I will continue this fascinating journey into the modern day park and my experiences there.  I know you are holding your breath in anticipation, but go ahead and breathe, it will take a while to write it.

Thanks for reading, I hope I have piqued your interest in Wilderness State Park!

Waugoshance Point South

If you are interested in a more extensive tale of the history of Wilderness State Park, you can read the reference document used for this blog, "A History of Wilderness State Park" at http://sitemaker.umich.edu/umbs/files/wildernesshistory.htm

When Imagination Comes Alive

Wow!  I just discovered that I have actual readers on my blog!  And even a few followers!!!!  Thank you to all who take the time to read my blog.  It is a big deal to me to know that, after 47 years, my voice is being heard.

I hope you all will keep checking back, because next week I will be starting a series on places to go in Michigan that not only include my personal reflections, but some fascinating histories behind areas in this great State of which you may not be aware but will perhaps peak your interest.  I am anxious to hear feedback from any of you who have also visited these places!

Before I begin my series of great places in Michigan, there is something personal I must share, because it will pop up in just about every post.  My name is Kiki, and I'm an Ophidiophobiac.  I have an unreasonable fear of snakes.  The conscious part of my brain knows that the tiny little garter snake in the grass can't hurt me, but I can't even begin to tell you what the subconscious part of my brain believes when I see a snake.  The act of writing down the things that run through my mind would induce a major panic attack and I would be unable to finish this post.

When I see a snake, whether live, or on the TV, or even a picture of one, I instantly need to get my feet off the ground, my heart starts racing and skipping beats, I can't breathe, and after a minute or so I black out.  When I come to, sometimes I wake up screaming and the process starts all over again, or, if someone is with me who knows how to handle the situation, I can be calmed down.  When it's all over, I sleep deeply for hours.

To give you an idea of how severe this phobia is, when my youngest child, Nina, was 6 months old, I was sitting on the couch one day while she played happily on the floor, rolling around and scooting back and forth.  I asked my older daughter, Keely who was 6 years old at the time, to watch Nina for a few minutes while I started dinner.  A short time later, Keely burst into the kitchen, and the look of utter and complete horror on her face made me jump to the immediate conclusion that something was wrong with the baby.  I grabbed Keely's shoulders and shouted at her, "What?  What's wrong?!!!"  She replied, in a whisper,

"There's a s-s-s-s-snake…in the HOUSE!"

My reaction was instantaneous and severe.  One of my worst fears was happening, my home is my safe place and suddenly it wasn't safe anymore.  I dropped a spoon, ran out of the house and jumped in the car out in the driveway, struggling to breathe, panic taking over my body.  Keely called my husband, Steve, on my cell phone and handed it to me.  When Steve answered, I choked out "snake, in the house" and he immediately turned his truck around on the highway and headed home.

About 10 minutes later - and keep in mind that technically, Steve was about 15 minutes away - he came tearing into the driveway, tires squealing and brakes protesting.  He ran to my car, looked in the back seat, woke me up and shouted at me, "Kiki!  Kiki, focus!  WHERE IS THE BABY?"

OHMYGODILEFTTHEBABYINTHEHOUSEWITHTHESNAKE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Steve covered the distance between the car and the back door in one second.  In my panic, I had forgotten Nina.  He came out moments later, holding a laughing Nina, and then disappeared back into the house.

Keely held Nina in the backseat while I rocked and moaned and tried to stay conscious.  When Steve came out of the house, he was holding a hockey stick and breathing heavily.  My hero, my Knight in Shining Armor, had killed the snake and disposed of it in the woods.

Later, I found out that the snake was very, very small, a baby garter snake, that had been hiding under the same changing table I had stood at, barefoot, an hour earlier, changing Nina's diaper.  I spent the next three days sitting on top of the kitchen table - even at night - holding two hockey sticks.

We hired a Critter Control guy to inspect the house and seal up any areas where a snake could get in.  To this day, if I see a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye while in the house, I jump up on the nearest piece of furniture until I am convinced there is no snake in the house.

Many people wonder, if I am so afraid of snakes, why do I spend so much time hiking and sleeping in the woods.  Just about every time I go into the wilderness, I encounter a snake.  My sister believes its personal with the snakes, they actually seek me out, because she says she never sees one.  I always see one.  The reason why I keep going is because my love of the outdoors is greater than my fear of snakes, and I will not allow this phobia to keep me from doing the one thing I love most to do.  So I go, I panic, I recover, and I go again.

In my mind, imagination comes alive.  The images that flash through my brain the instant I see a snake are not real, but to me they are very real.  When imagination comes alive, there is little I can do to combat it.  The good news is, in my imagination there are lots of things that aren't real, and every once in a while, those things come true in a positive way.

For years, I have been writing to an imaginary audience.  All of a sudden, you are real.  I didn't conjure up my readers.  I took the steps to expose my writing, and the real readers followed.  If I can take steps to make imaginary readers real, maybe someday I can take steps to make real fears imaginary.

I never give up hope that I will conquer my fear of snakes, just as I've never given up hope that someday, someone will want to read what I write.  So while many of my posts about traveling in the great outdoors will invariably include a snake story, because I really do think snakes seek me out, I hope that you will be amused and confident that, as long as I can laugh about it (laugh about it much, much later!) I can keep doing what I do and loving life.

And hey, thanks for reading.  Today, my heart is light and my hope is high, and it's all because of you, my very real audience.

P.S.  Sorry there are no interesting pictures in this post.  I cannot post a pictures of a snake, for obvious reasons.

Have A Beer

OMG!!!!  Hillary Clinton had a beer!  Why is everyone so worked up about this?  Seriously, who cares?  Whether you agree with our Secretary of State's political position, whatever you think about her ability to lead, you do not have the right to judge her because she went out after hours and had a beer.

We all live in a society of very judgmental people.  I'm tired of all the women who gently suggest to me that a stylist could "do something" with my hair.  I'm frustrated with the fifth grade girls at my daughter's school who are just plain mean, and are teaching my daughter to be just plain mean.  All around me are people who are far more concerned about how I live my life than worrying about their own.

This is why I periodically go into the woods to be alone.  I get asked, all the time, why I choose to leave my family and live in the tin can for a short time.  The question accompanies a judgement of being a bad mother, a freak, a loner, an irresponsible and selfish woman who cares only for what she wants.  I have given up trying to justify my actions.  Frankly, as long as my husband and kids understand and support my choices, I don't care what anyone thinks they know about me.  But there is an answer to that question of why I do it, and it's most likely not the answer you think.

A few years ago, I loaded up the tin can and set off for Ludington State Park on my second annual Fall trip.  When I arrived at the campground, I was surprised to find that not only were all 358 sites occupied, the park rangers were turning campers away by the dozens.  I had anticipated a quiet campground in October, but the weather was unseasonably warm and the salmon were running.  Because I always reserve my campsite, I was admitted amid the angry glares of families turning their RV's around to leave.  When I pulled around to my site, I knew it was going to be dicey backing in, but my husband has taught me well and I knew if I took it slow, I would get Twinkie parked.  I pulled forward, backed up, pulled forward, jumped out of the truck to see how close I was to that big tree on my left, backed up,over and over until I almost had the tin can in, but found my truck in a very tight embrace with a large bush.  This little lovefest was keeping me from backing the rest of the way in.  So I pulled out and started all over.  I checked my rearview mirror and was startled to see a tiny, very old man standing there.  Hitting the brakes, I rolled my window down and the man said "You're not doing it right".  Normally, I get offended at men who try to tell me how to back in, because it happens all the time and even though I am pretty damn good at backing in, men see a single woman driving a camper and immediately need to jump up and rescue her.  Unfortunately, this time the little old man was right.  I was doing something wrong because I could not get Twinkie backed in.

The little old man gave me a few directions and minutes later I was in.  I was grateful for his help, but he just waved me off and shuffled back to his site, three spots behind me.  But I had arrived and I was excited!  I unhooked the camper, plugged in, opened my awning, and set up my home of the heart.

I was staying for two weeks, and the tiny old man was there for the duration with his wife.  His name is Hump, and he is a delightful creature who enjoys living outside, cooking over a fire, fishing from a canoe, and caring for his wife.  Hump and I developed a friendship.  His campfire stories about growing up and raising a family were funny, yet always had a clear lesson to be learned from his 80+ years of experience.

Each morning, Hump would stick his head in my campsite while I built a fire and say, "Mornin' girlie.  You survived the night."  I am not sure if Hump just can't remember my name, or maybe he doesn't like my name, but he always calls me "girlie".  In any other circumstances I would be offended, but when Hump says it, it's endearing.  He will sit in my camp chair and enjoy his first cup of coffee, watching me build a fire and barking out instructions.  Then he asks me about my life, tells me about his, and sometimes we just fall into a comfortable silence, sipping coffee outdoors and watching the birds.

One night, I took a cup of coffee over to Hump's site to sit by their fire.  Hump is convinced that my late night coffee is the reason why I don't sleep, and I let him think that because it is too hard to explain my insomnia to most people.  We were enjoying the bonfire, having lively conversation, and his wife brought me a cookie she had made that afternoon.  After taking the first bite, I was in heaven!  It was, without a doubt, the best cookie I had ever tasted, and I said so.  Hump's wife proudly told me she makes cookies all from scratch with good ole' God-provided ingredients, and I told her the effort was worth it.  We sat there, me happily munching away, Hump quietly watching the fire, and he looked at me and said "You're alright, girlie."

This is why I go camping.  I love being outside, I love bonfires and deer in the woods and birds in the trees, salmon in the river and kayaking and the waves of Lake Michigan.  But more than anything, I love the people I meet when I go camping.

Contrary to popular opinion, I do not go camping alone to get away from my family.  My husband and kids just don't love it like I do, and while they occasionally join me, it's not something they want to do often.  So sometimes I get lonely.  But campers are the best people in the world.  They don't care about my crazy hair, my political views, or why I am alone.  It doesn't matter to them that I don't wear makeup or what I do for a living.  They simply see every camper as another person who loves what they love, and it's all that matters.

When I am home, I am judged for not being like the other mom's at school.  People write me off because of how I look and the things I do.  But in a campground, no one cares.  I can be at home and filled with self-doubt and constantly thinking about my actions and how others will perceive them, but then I go camping, and a complete stranger, a man who works hard, helps others, and has a lifetime of experience to share, thinks I'm alright.  That's why I go camping.

Sometimes, when I meet people in a campground, they'll invite me to their fire for a beer.  If Hillary Clinton were in that campground, they'd invite her too.  No one would take her picture holding a bottle and spread it all over the internet.  No one would ask her how things are in the Middle East.  They'd ask Hillary what she saw that day hiking in the woods, if she wanted to try fishing tomorrow because they'd love to teach her how, and if she was looking forward to sleeping under the stars.  We'd all sit and have a beer.  The only thing we would care about is listening to the wind, sharing a laugh, and ending our day on a good note.  That's the way life should be.  That's alright.