CAMPING FOR PARENTS

New Zealand Listener, Volume 22, Issue 554, 3 February 1950, Page 14

CAMPING FOR PARENTS

-_- | Written for "The Listener"

by

E. L.

S.

4 HE children, carrying fiftypound packs-and cheerfully vague as to when we shall see them again, have gone off to climb in the mountains. Suggestions that we might, perhaps, go too, have been firmly set aside, Climbing, the young have informed us, is beyond our waning powers; we must remain. behind and take care of ourselves. So we whd once organised family holidays are left at home to twiddl@ our thumbs or find: some nice quiet ~-boarding house where

we can be guitably looked after, Despite our advancing senility, however, we still refain @ enark or two

-- ..2. tO ere of our old fire. So we decidé to make for a friend’s sheep-run where we have been assured of a place. There we will camp. On the appointed day the weather forecast is discouraging. But we «are tired of loitering about in town. Anyway, the car is packed and everything is ready. So, despite the previous two days’ thunder and hailstorm, we willingly wake up an hour earlier than usual and set off, : By mid-afternoon the rain has begun --not ‘much, but enough to keep. the windscreen wiper in activity. Our hostess when we arrive at her homestead gives us a quick cup of tea before we set off in the ever-increasing downpour to our appointed place. The creek, the hut, and the old safe willow tree form a corner into which a tent fits perfectly. ~ We begin to unload, PACKING our light car so that it may be unpacked with the least possible effort has been the cgncern of my husband for several days. Now, we test the efficiency of his method. From the front and sides come the tent-poles rolled in the canvas floor and extension; from the back come the tent-pegs and the tent itself. While he produces these, I take a spade -and remove the. Scotch thistles tound the site. Then we erect the tent together: I hold the poles while he attaches the guy-ropes to the pegs; I pin down the walls while he brings the twe camp-beds from inside the car, Because our shoes are soaking we roll the canvas floor close round the centre pole to preserve it for later comfort. Then we dump the bedding on the beds. set

up the table and the two camp chairs, bring~ out the boxes of food and | utensils, and prepare for a meal, ' From under thes dripping horizontal boughs, ‘the husband. produces dry twigs with which he starts a fire in the stonerimmed fireplace outside the tent. Inside, the primus stove is going ‘so that I can cook soup while I scrub the potatoes, We drink the soup while he grills a couple of cutlets over the fire and boils the potatoes. He looks like a huge

we . 2h, (Sd ed beetle crouching over the fire in his oilskin butterfly, but I know that his shoulders are dry and that no amount of rain will be able to wet them, When we subside in our chairs and eat, there is everything still to be tidied,’ but because’ we are well-fed our tempers ill be ‘cdim as we face it. A billy for tea, and a half-kerosene tin for washing water are left heating on the fire, While he puts the car away and attends to the. outside needs fe myself inside." _ I wash the dishes we have just used, stand the boxes and our cases on logs, and make the beds-vround sheets first, >

then eider-downs and then our sleeping bags. Bother! I have forgotten the pillows, a luxury pas eP ee" aes ee Ay SOY

sh tte eatin Rati ta nn taal young, but a necessity for those of us who are young no longer; so I stuff the pillow-cases with, our underclothing and hope the buttons won’t be too noticeable. I place a hot-water bag in each bed-let him protest if he likes-and make the tea. When we have drunk end | have washed the mugs for ‘the morning there seems nothing else to do but turn in, So we unroll the floor, undress, crawl into our bags, cover our feet with our coats, and find that the pillows are less uncomfortable than might be supposed. The rain pouring on the canvas roof and the water tumbling into the creek from the dam make a soothing roar. Almost at once we go to sleep. URING the night I wake to sniff air ~ $0 icy that I burrow my nose in the sleeping-bag for protection aganst a chilblain. "Surely not; in mid-summer!" I protest in outrage. My husband seems to be immune to such ills and slumbers. steadily. So I, after a broken night, am still asleep when he gets up at seven o'clock next morning. I open my eyes to find him standing over me with a mugful of hot tea, "Snow on the hills," he says. I nod gloomily. My nose had been Tight again. As I drink I see that the sage-green light of morning is on everything outside, The silver grass is steaming in the sunshine and steam rises from the billy on the little red fire with the crossed sticks. "Going to be a lovely day," says my husband. Slowly the old excitement begins to fill me. I wash in the tent--a pampering hot wash-and put on my warmest slacks

and jerseys. Outside the sky is bright blue with the snowy hills cutting sharply against it. The fields are tawny-green, with cocksfoot and buttercups and clover in the grass; and blue borrage, dogdaisies, and a pink rose bush are growing over by the dam. Under the willows in the mushroom paddock rabbits are play-~ ing, and thrushes hopping across the shadows. The heavily-leaved boughs float gently in the drying aig. I suddenly want to sing. At the tent my husband has rigged up thé canvas floor as a break between the wind from the snows and the fire. We cook bacon and eggs and coffee, remarking how revolting indoors, and how delicious out-of-doors is the smell of frying. Himself wants to convert one of the food boxes into a meat safe and busies himself with butter-muslin and tacks as soon as we have eaten. I am left to the job I love-making the camp ship-shape. But first I remove the warmest slacks and jerseys and get into shorts. I take the bedding over to the bridge and hang it out to air, I stand at the steps of the hut and wash the breakfast dishes in hot soapy water. I cook prunes and figs for tomorrow’s breakfast, and black currants for tonight’s dinner, rousing the smouldering fire. into a flame with an enamel plate beaten fiercely up and down so that a draught is forced upwards under the logs. I pour the fruit up and dissolve a packet of jelly in a mixture of their juices. Now I can go down to the creek and wash the billies. This, of all camp joys, is one of the best. I stand bare-footed in the creek washing the fruit-stains inside and the soot

outside with a root of grass covered in soft mud. Though a black billy is a camper’s pride, a sooty billy is a good camper’s horror, and there is nothing that so easily and pleasantly removes soot as soft mud. I take longer ‘than is necessary, paddling about on the round stones, looking for mint among the grasses and waiting for a minnow to swim over my feet. The sun pours down but the wind is still cool. Soon, however, the snow will be gone, and then‘Then? Just camping: looking at the sky and the hills as if they were being discovered for the first time; wandering through the hot grass and the spicy shade under the trees; going to bed in the dusk and watching the stars come out; writing, resting, doing just as one likes while "peace comes dropping slow." _ And the husband? No. Activity for him-washing, fishing, climbing, anything to be on the move. He will sometimes need assistance, so one must be ready with complaints of what one has left behind-no coat hangers, no towel rack, no clothes-pegs, no ladle. Then he will set to and fashion these necessities from bits and pieces he has collected around him, modestly requiring nothing in return but a little wifely praise, . When the children return they will view our rested faces and sunburnt arms with surprise. That we in our elderly camping have enjoyed ourselves as much as they in. their youthful climbing will not seem possible to them. But we shall say nothing for we ourselves were young once-though no child will ever really believe it of a parent.