My husband liked to camp. The real hardcore kind where you carry everything in a pack and hike into the wilderness for days at a time or at the very least, the kind that only involves a tent and a campfire for cooking.
In either situation, you quickly realize what things are essential and what things are not worth lugging around. My husband used to challenge himself to get the weight of his pack — or, after we had five kids, what would fit in the SUV — down as low as was humanly possible. He carefully calculated how little food and water we could get by with to avoid being weighed down with extra cans. He even wanted to cut the handle off his toothbrush and just pack the little rectangle that has the bristles until I learned of his plans and said a few things!
I enjoyed wilderness camping but now that I’m older and a widow, I camp a little differently. I drive up to a campsite with my car loaded down with an inflatable mattress, plenty of warm quilts, a griddle, and pancake batter. Call me crazy, but I think a warm night’s sleep and a hearty breakfast in the woods is more fun than sleeping on the dirt and eating dehydrated beans.
I mean, why just survive when you can thrive? I guess that fits in with my philosophy that camping isn’t just a hobby, it’s a way of life.
So I guess there are two ways to camp. Maybe more. Lots more. But as for me, I want that comfy, warm bed at night and a hot cup of coffee in the morning.