The morning consisted of another campfire, grilled sausages and buttered toast, some instant coffee for me and ice cold water for Ben (thank you Coleman cooler), and another few marshmallows. I tucked Ben into his sleeping bag (the one atop another sleeping bag atop a queen-sized air mattress, yes) and then lay beside him until he fell asleep, which took about four minutes. But first we played three rounds of Uno by the softly glowing light of our lantern and read Mercy Watson Goes for a Ride, a gripping narrative about a pig who goes for a ride in a car. It was almost 8 pm, and high time for some sleep.
Like preschool and mommy and our cats and books we like to read and such.Īs the last sunlight faded and night took hold, I let the fire die and poured on a bit of water so Ben and I could retire to the tent. Together, they helped us enjoy another 45 minutes or so of firelight, during which we talked about the kind of things men talk about by the fireside. I found a few stout logs and Ben found a few fine twigs. (Which was totally cool there’s enough campground for all of us.) Our evening hike turned into a wood hunt, as we had already burned through most of our logs during our all-afternoon campfire. We trekked about the autumnal twilit hills, leaves crunching beneath our feet, birdsong mingling with cricket chirps, and the drunk guys a few campsites over really starting to get after it. He opted for a sunset hike (I’m adding the sunset part, but hey, it was at sundown). We grilled up our meal and ate off our laps, spilling surprisingly little food and filling our bellies with simple, tasty nourishment.Īfter dinner, I cleaned off the grill, wiped down our cookware and plates, and asked Ben what he wanted to do next. For dinner, I had brought some veggies (because health), macaroni and cheese (because of course), and shrimp (because Ben loves shrimp like the flowers love the rain). The sweets didn’t damper our appetites, though. We cooked 10 or 11 marshmallows then and there, eating them as soon as they cooled. After one tremulous bite, though, the child was sold.
They look weird and the preparation process is totally unlike anything one would have heretofore seen. But also it’s okay if it catches on fire.”)īen was hesitant to take his first taste of roasted marshmallow, which makes sense, objectively. Back at camp, I adeptly made a fire (oh, it was adept) and we waited for the flames to grow while I explained the finer points of marshmallow roasting. After about a half-hour of woodland rambling, Ben and I had found sticks we both agreed were up to the demanding task of marshmallow toasting. Once we had found the perfect long, slender staves, it would be time to roast marshmallows, another exciting first. This was no ordinary hike, though: this was a stick hunt. With the tent pitched, the grill set up, and the cooler latched shut to ward off nosy animals, Ben and I set off on a hike. The tent is easy to pitch and offers plentiful room for a four-year-old and adult male, along with way too much stuff the adult male brought along. We had brought my Kelty Gunnison 3 three-person tent, one of those rare tents that can comfortably accommodate the number of people it says (most “three-person” tents are ideal for two adults, e.g.). Then I set him up in a chair and plied him with trail mix while I set the tent up as quickly as I could. Benjamin “helped” me get the tent poles ready by popping them back out of joint a few times after I had them assembled, but of course I commended his efforts and expressed gratitude for the assistance.
We arrived at our campsite at the Fahenstock State Park Campground in New York at around 1 pm and immediately began to set up camp. Ben took to the woods and the camping lifestyle at once. It turns out that I over-thought things by a factor of 10. I figured that if you’re bringing a four-year-old camping, you should make the experience as low-impact as possible.