Pink Think: “I was looked at as weird, odd, not fitting in with the Hollywood crowd.” – Morgan Brittany, actress
[This is Part 4 of a 7-part series on tent-camping at Lake Powell. Here is my intro post on scorpions as well as posts on sabotaged gourmet meals, getting my hair wet and pin-ups & pizza.]
Lake Powell – Day 4
I feel like an odd fish in my family. The kids and my husband Drew love the outdoors. And I don’t as much.
I grew up in a non-camping family. The closest thing we did outdoors was going to Manila Bay and eating a picnic at the park.
Drew introduced me to the outdoors when I was 19. Our first real date, he took me to an elk ranch (Hardware Ranch) in the middle of winter while I had a cast on a leg from ice skating. The elk was a novelty and I enjoyed myself, especially when I had to hold Drew’s hand because, hey, I needed some extra help getting around.
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The kids and Drew love Lake Powell. I don’t as much.
My first time, I was utterly captivated. It was June; the carp were spawning and there were shallow pools where I could swim with the fish, which looked like beautiful koi in a pond. The water was lower and revealed lots of rock islands, and I felt like a mermaid, beaching from one rock to another. I swam and swam and swam. Drew and I were newlyweds; I am sure that cast extra-special magic dust over the experience.
After ten years of annual trips to Lake Powell, I have to work a little harder at getting excited. The weeks leading up to the trip, I stress over everything that has to be done. When we pull out of the driveway, I collapse in the passenger’s seat from sheer relief and exhaustion.
I admit, my interest in Lake Powell is very writer-ly. I go to refill my sensory bucket. New experiences to write about. I try something for the first time, like driving the boat while towing my husband and not killing him in the process, and I think, “Gotta write about this someday.”
After a day or two, I start getting really into it.
Although I always count the days until a proper shower.
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My sister-in-law arrived today with her six- and four-year old kids. On the way to Lake Powell, my niece asked her, “Mommy, so is it just kids that love Lake Powell?”
My SIL replied, “No. Grandpa, Drew and the kids do.”
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We laughed, then Drew asked me, “So, Jewel. Do you tolerate, like or love Lake Powell?”
My answer: like
How do I like Lake Powell? Let me count the ways:
1. I can unplug. No e-mail, no telephones, no appointments. No to-do lists. And no blogs!
2. I write long-hand before it gets hot and before everyone gets up and the words just flow.
3. I love living simple. I can eat with my fingers, from a can. I let my kids get dirty and who cares if they don’t wash their hands before eating? My favorite meal: steaks and corn on the cob grilled on a beach.
4. I love looking out across the lake and let my imagination laze and reach and dream.
5. I don’t have to spend hours on my hair.
6. Ice cream tastes wonderful.
7. I love jumping in the lake whenever I feel like it.
I did use the word LOVE several times, didn’t I? Mmm. Maybe I actually love the place.
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My husband served his mission in the phillipines and they all thought he was very weird to enjoy camping–where he was, a lot of people lived in similar conditions and the idea of leaving a house for that made no sense. A few years later, with two kids and a coleman stove and I completely agreed with them. Now that my kids are getting older I’m learning to re-love the exeprience, but it dominates my life for days before and days after. I feel your pain and your joy. The carp sound really cool.
That’s wonderful that your husband served a mission in the Philippines. And yes, I can see now why our family really didn’t get into “camping.” You explained the Filipino psyche well!