The Camping Box

I guess some things are nearly packed. (Pre-packed? Packed in preparation for packing?) I am referring to the Kitchen Stuff. All the Kitchen Stuff is ready because Mom’s Camping Box is going along. Dad built the Camping Box for Mom in their early years together. Gosh, that would make it over 40 years old now. Tightly packed inside that gray plywood box, with its rope handles and hinged door (approximately knee-high, a foot and a half deep and two and a half feet wide), is every kitchen utensil any person could possibly ever need to cook with while camping, including all the dishes, silverware, pots and pans, dishwashing stuff, hot mitts - and oh, yeah, don’t forget the compass, the deck of playing cards and the snakebite kit. It was, and still is, a marvel to me, how the two of them put the Camping Box together. Sure, it's kind of heavy and takes up a bit of space, but I’ll figure out how to fit it in. And nothing will rattle, either. There’s nothing like the fragrance that rushes out when you open the Camping Box - a combination of Dial soap, pepper, matches and Brillo pads. Just opening it takes me back to my childhood. This is what it looks like inside now - but it isn't ready for the trip quite yet. I'll post another picture when it's all organized and ready.



Now that I think about it, it’s quite possible that I may have inherited my Gypsy Heart from my Dad. I think he built the Camping Box and The Gray Box (which was much bigger and was lashed to the roof of the station wagon) specifically for the Cross-Country Camping Trip. We started out in North Carolina and drove across the entire United States, ending up in California, where we visited my Aunt and Uncle. I believe my brother was ten years old at the time, which would make me about six years old and my sister, Pam, just a toddler. I have a renewed appreciation for the patience of my parents - I cannot even imagine taking a long-distance road trip like that with three small children. We tent-camped the entire way, too.

I have a child’s memories of that trip, some of which are still as vivid as a color photograph etched in my mind. No memories of the scenery, particularly, nor of special places we visited - no, what I remember are things like the tiny bandanna halters Mom made for my sister and I. I thought Mom was a magician when made them: she folded two bandannas in half diagonally and tied them in knots. One knot was placed in the center of my scrawny little chest, another under the tangle of curls at the nape of my neck, and the third in the middle of my back. It was magic, pure and simple. Three simple knots and I felt like a movie star.

I remember the hand puppets my parents had hoped would keep us occupied on the road, and Dad pulling over and yanking me out of the car to paddle my behind right there on the side of the road, when the puppets didn’t work. I guess I always was a bit of a troublemaker.

Dad wasn't happy when I opted out of going to see the Anasazi ruins at Mesa Verde,either. The way I saw it, why would I want to traipse around out there looking at a bunch of old rocks when there were toys at the ranger station to play with? He finally relented and my sister and I stayed behind while my Big Brother went with my parents. To me, Mesa Verde was the place where the water froze in the collapsible canvas Army bucket, and the rain froze on the tent fly. Mom and Dad hadn't been prepared for weather like that - they had to buy us each a sweatshirt so we could keep warm.

Oh, yes. Every time I open the Camping Box, memories come flooding back. And the Camping Box definitely has to go with me. It’s what my road trip camping memories are made of!