Family camping trips not always idyllic

The commercials make camping look and sound so bucolic.

Two children innocently sit by a campfire, toasting marshmallows, while their parents sit nearby gazing at the stars. The family dog is sitting watch by the fire, serving as guardian from any manner of wild beasts. And, all this under a clear sky in temperate weather.

The ads neglect to show how it took the family three hours to park their oversized rig in a camping spot crammed with other families on the search for relaxation at the lake. They don't talk about the nine-hour drive with a chorus of are-we-there-yets from the backseat and a road map that's had the critical portion chewed up by the family dog. Nowhere is it even hinted that in a few minutes the clear sky will turn cloudy and a rainstorm will unleash its fury on the hapless family as they dive for cover in their RV.

How can I be so cynical? Easy, I am a survivor of 20 years of family camping excursions.

Our parents thought that owning a camper trailer to haul to the county fair and on family vacations would be a good way to not only save a few dollars, but also promote family togetherness. It was an innocent dream, but one that usually quickly turned into a Griswold-influenced nightmare.

Our camper wasn't some fancy fifth wheel trailer with working plumbing and all the amenities. Oh, no sir. This thing was a 1970-something tin can shell, with orange floral upholstery and a "bathroom" that hadn't been in running condition since the Ford Administration.

Nevertheless, my parents, in their infallible optimism, decided to make do with what they had, and so Dad's ingenuity was put to the test to make this thing habitable for three kids, two parents, and the family dog.

My older sister and I would sleep crammed together on the small fold-out dining room table/bed, and Mom and Dad would take the fold-out couch/bed, while our brother would sleep in the pull-down bunk above us. Nighttime at the Latzke trailer was a feat of acrobatics that rivaled Cirque Du Soleil as my brother would vault into the upper bunk and stay put while we made the beds below. Then, Joni and I would go to sleep, usually with me smooshed against the front interior wall of the trailer.

People wonder why I get antsy in crowds and I hate closed in spaces--sleeping with one's face pressed against faux wood siding for eight hours a night through one's childhood will do that to a person.

Mealtime in the camper was a particularly fun highlight of Mom's day. With the "beds" put away, there still wasn't enough for more than two people to be in the camper at a time, so Mom usually got stuck with meal duty by herself. The fridge was more often than not on the fritz, so our cold storage was a cooler filled with ice that had to be drained at least twice a day.

The little camper stove had two burners and required that the trailer be absolutely level before it would work. And, because Mom's not too keen on fire, Dad was always in charge of lighting the temperamental pilot light. She'd move us kids a safe distance away, but didn't blink when Dad went in like a bomb squad captain to light the thing.

With no air conditioning the little trailer became an oven in the summer, which made finding a shade tree to park under a high priority. In the winter its heater was unreliable, and all year long its roof leaked. Calling it "shelter" was stretching the definition of the word.

I have to give my parents credit, though. We traveled across the country on vacation with that little camper towed behind Dad's pickup. It served as home base during our county fair, and on more than one occasion it was the "guest room" for our childhood sleepovers. It served its purpose well, all in all.

After the three of us kids were out of 4-H, Mom and Dad had no use for the camper so it was sold. And, now that Mom and Dad are semi-retired, they recently invested in a brand new fifth wheel camper trailer, as much as for their business excursions as to travel the country.

It's got a queen bed in the separate bedroom, a kitchen with state-of-the art appliances, a bathroom that actually works, and heating and air conditioning that function in the appropriate seasons.

It makes me almost wish I was traveling with them on the open road--almost, but not quite.

Jennifer M. Latzke can be reached by phone at 620-227-1807, or by e-mail at jlatzke@hpj.com.

8/20/07

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