It's no secret that half the fun of camping is playing house in the woods. This time around, we had some exciting new gear to test out.
An air mattress. (I know, we're getting old and soft.)
A heavy-as-lead Dutch oven.
And, wait for it: a brand spanking new camp stove, the
Camp Chef Everest!
Oooh, that thing makes me so happy. No more pumping of the gas cylinder. No more dropping matches and burning your finger. Every. Single. Time. Push a button and
whoosh goes the flame. And, wow, is it fast. We had water at a rolling boil in seconds.
I know it kind of hurt Daniel's feelings that I was ready to retire the bottle-green Coleman stove, a $10 Craigslist purchase from the early days of our Colorado camping career. In its defense, the thing was used when we bought it. And if it's no longer green but rather dingy and black, it's because one time, ah-hem, it went up in flames. I can't seem to remember what happened. Unfazed, that Coleman kept on chugging for another five years. Surely, it deserves some kind of camping award.
That's great. Life moves on. Can we talk about my new stove now? I actually lay in the tent the second night fantasizing about making coffee in the morning. Yes, it's true. I'm in love with a camp stove.
Shove that casserole in there, baby! This is a kale sausage roasted squash rosemary bread pudding delight.
There was a moment of studious reading about a certain number of briquettes in a checkerboard pattern. Daniel decided to keep it real and dump chunks of wood on top instead. It turned out delicious. Amazing, even. However, there was this slight l'eau-de-burnt-ash that we weren't fond of. This led to DK The Science Guy deciding that for the next go-around, we needed to create an internal "oven" to distribute the heat more evenly. I smiled and nodded sagely, pretending I had something to contribute to the conversation other than detailed ideas about what would go inside said oven.
And now we need to talk about what happened for dessert. Brownie mix cooked in oranges. What? So good. Recipe
here. You're welcome.
While we were cooking, Jack announced, "Grub's up!" And then he said, "Um, Mom, do people really say that?"
After that feast, I felt like a grub. A very rotund one. I had to take a stroll around the campground just to shake off strange but persistent memories of third-trimester pregnancy. I walked out to an opening in the trees and the sun was setting over all those glorious fire-gold aspens. I ran (waddled?) back to the campsite and we all charged through the woods. The guys missed most of the sunset, but we did catch the tail end of the show.
Here it is, Daniel's solution to the burning problem. And it worked! Perfect breakfast scones. And may I say, these were much needed after a rough first night which included a freezing Daniel (for the first time in our married life, I was the warm one--perhaps due to the wearing of not one but two sleeping bags?), a restless Jack, and an air mattress that rocked like a boat every time Bronte wandered around, which was often.
Plus, yes, we had a large animal encounter of the Ursine kind.
We woke up to a huffing noise right outside the tent. Daniel and I froze, ears cocked to the sound like paralyzed deer. It moved closer, circling the tent and grunting. It sounded big. In seconds stretched thin like taffy, we listened as whatever it was moved around the tent and through the campsite and eventually off into the forest. I started shaking. Daniel assured me it was a moose, not a bear. I've heard that one before, but I rolled over into the hedge of his strong arms and promptly conked out. Which I think says my repression skills are improving.
In the morning, a spectacularly wizened camp host stopped by. (I mean, seriously, it looked like he was wearing a wrinkled leather mask--the kind Tom Cruise is always hiding under in spy movies.) He confirmed it was a moose, and that he visits often. Visit away, moose. Anytime. Just keep Mama Bear somewhere far away.
Stuffed with yummy food and autumn beauty, we drove home. The Pathfinder reeked of woodsmoke and dirty socks, but we had big smiles on our faces. Until next time....
Happy 40th birthday to my darling husband Daniel. Steady rock, adventurous soul, deep thinker, God-lover, patient father, loyal and kind friend, humble genius who thinks doctoring the underserved is just the right thing to do, mountain man who still makes my heart skip a beat in those worn hiking boots: you are so special today and every day.
After a long day in the car, we rounded the corner and there was La Push. We settled in at our beachfront cabin at the Quileute Oceanside Resort on First Beach at La Push. The whole area belongs to the Quileute Nation, and the resort is the only thing happening on the beach, which made it feel really remote and private (just what we like!). (P.S. The term "resort" is used a bit loosely--more like tents, RVs, and cabins.) It was really fun talking with the Quileute owners in the office, picking up some children's books about legends of the tribe, and learning more about their culture and language.
I was not used to all the rivers and streams feeding into the ocean, or the sea stacks and strange rock formations, or the piles of massive logs, or the salmon trying to jump back upstream to spawn, or the frigid water, or the tide pools and crazy sea creatures, or the importance of knowing the tide schedule. I love the smell of the ocean, and that was familiar, but the fog and chill were not. It reminded me of Scotland more than anything else. We even saw seals in the harbor.
