Camping. It’s what Steve and I both did growing up. It’s what we did when we dated, and when we were newlyweds. With our friends, and with our kids. But then camping turned into backpacking, and once I turned 40, I wasn’t as interested in sleeping on the ground, or quite frankly, peeing in the woods. Steve has always backpacked with the girls (they have annual Muddy Buddy trips, which I believe is the single most impressive thing he’s done as a father) and I sleep in beds at home. And then, camping somehow turned into glamping and guess what? I’m back!
We spent the last five days in a rented 1947 Spartan Trailer, in the beautiful Hope Valley. We visited nine lakes, took one impressive hike and many fabulous walks. I read two books, we sat and drank beer and talked about our life together, we played Scrabble and Bananagrams and ate the world’s biggest and most delicious marshmallows, chased with a shot of tequila (ok, that only happened once, but it was a moment). We cooked in foil (in foil!!) and enjoyed our wine and each other and the mountains and being unhooked.
And here’s the view from the trailer…not counting the granite cliffs, or the blanket of stars at night. Just the western fork of the Carson River outside our door, and our own private beach.
More, you want more? Yeah, me too. Lucky for all of us, I have 140 photos to go…see you tomorrow!