Winnebago lifeWe stayed in a cabin during our state park sojourn, but of course the park was filled with campers of all stripes. I can't pass a campground without thinking of the many times my family stayed in KOAs and Jellystone Parks. Because we were ... RVers.
So my dad got the freedom of the open road, and my mom got ... well, I don't know what my mom got out of RVing. I know that by the end of a two-week trip, we frequently spent a night in an actual hotel to give her a break. Was it the thin mattresses on the pullout beds, the tiny kitchen in which she assembled meals day after day, or the shower that never seemed to shed its layer of gritty sand on the plastic floor? RVing probably wasn't Mom's idea of a vacation, but she went back year after year, like a trooper. We never really camped -- not with tents or trailers. I have never spent a night in a tent, and I must say that outside of romantic survivalist fantasies, I don't really want to. Campfires are great, but when the s'mores run out, I like to retire to an actual bed under an actual roof (even if it's the fantastic above-the-cab fifth bed under the roof of the 28 1/2-foot Winnebago we took to Glacier National Park). By the way, my dad took a lot of pictures of our rented RVs -- I'm not really sure why, but frequently his family does not make an appearance in the frame. Sounds like a future blog series to me, especially if I can get him back in the habit of digitizing those boxes of slides. Posted: Thursday - June 28, 2007 at 06:20 PM | |
Quick Links
|