Adventures in camping

Seven or eight years ago, my then-boyfriend and I went on a road trip through Virginia that involved a little couch surfing at relatives' houses and a lot of camping. Our first stop was at Comers Rock, a small 10-site campground near Wytheville. At the time, Comers Rock was classified as semi-primitive, meaning that it had enclosed vault toilets (basically port-o-johns with a foundation), but no flush toilets or running water.

It didn't bother us. I mean, I was raised to believe that "roughing it" means "no toilet paper," so a vault toilet 100 feet from our (free!) campsite was damn near luxury accommodations, camping-wise. (The only thing I didn't like was that, even in the middle of summer, the campground was completely deserted. I got a little horror-movie vibe from that, but that's just me.)

Anyway, prior to leaving on what was our first camping trip together, the BF and I went to Wal-Mart to stock up. He insisted on buying a couple of cans of Sterno, saying that we could light them on fire for cooking. Well, I thought this was terrible. Cooking over a frakking CAN when you're supposed to be existing on a primitive level in the wilderness is just cheating. I'm of the school that, if you can't get a fire going with matches and twigs, then you don't deserve to eat hot food. He bought the Sterno anyway, and I made fun of him.

So, fast-forward to Comers Rock. It had been drizzling all day, but that's really not a big deal if you have enough kindling to start a larger (albeit smoky) fire. And, I don't mean to brag, but I'm a champion finder of kindling (we'd also packed newspaper). One problem - there was not one single downed branch or pile of brush in this entire campground. I have never seen anything like it before or since. It was as if the surrounding woods had been blasted with the world's largest leaf-blower. When I say there was nothing on the ground, I mean there was NOTHING on the ground. The whole place had been swept. WTF, Parks Service?

As it turned out, it had been swept. The BF eventually found, in a gap between hills, a giant mass of branches, dead leaves, brush. It was the mother lode of fire-building material... or, at least it would've been if it hadn't been sopping wet from being all piled up like it was. Again, WTF, Parks Service?

The upshot is that now I know how long it takes to cook Hamburger Helper over a can of Sterno in the pouring rain. About an hour, for al dente anyway. It was one of the best meals I've ever had.

I thought of that camping trip yesterday when I saw this. Nowhere in my definition of "camping" will you find an RV (that's called "RVing"), or, for the love of pete, a frakking VACUUM CLEANER.

By the way, Michelle Obama didn't tell people not to eat dessert. There's a big difference between working with public institutions (like schools) to see what policy changes could make it easier for them to provide healthier food and ordering you personally what not to feed your family in the privacy of your own home, you paranoiac ninny.