Campy Camping - Episode 7

(See Episode 1 of Campy Camping)

(See Episode 2 of Campy Camping)

(See Episode 3 of Campy Camping)

(See Episode 4 of Campy Camping)

(See Episode 5 of Campy Camping)

(See Episode 6 of Campy Camping)

Campy Camping - Episode 6

For me, camping is all about relaxing, eating and drinking.

Relaxing most often entails reading a good book, taking walks, chatting by a raging fire and enjoying good company . . . sometimes with a meal and / or an adult beverage.

There is nothing better than an ice cold beer or a cup of cheap . . . er, moderately priced . . . wine when your camping.

I have a standard  selection of meals for camp food.  Hot dogs and beans for the first night (because that’s easy), sausage and peppers on a hard roll, spaghetti and meatballs, kielbasa and sourkraut for dinners.  French toast, bagels and cream cheese and trash hash for breakfasts.

What’s that?  Yes, I said trash hash.

It’s a recipe of my own invention.  It’s also a recipe that is constantly evolving and updated nearly every time we go camping.

The story behind this mish mash of ingredients goes like this.  One time when we were camping we had all kinds of leftover food from different  meals . . . baked potatoes, corn on the cob, hot dogs, steak, etc.  It was the last morning before we had to head home and I didn’t want to

a. take the food home or b. throw it away.

So I chopped up the potatoes and meat, removed the corn from the cob and through them into a big skillet along with eggs, onions, bacon, sausage and cheese.

I call it trash hash and it became a tradition to have it for breakfast the last day of camping.

One year someone had leftover kielbasa . . . so I threw it in.  I didn't like it so it hasn't gone back in.  One year someone put on hot sauce, that one stuck.  Someone else introduced me to Tony Chachere Creole Seasoning and that went into the hash . . . that was a keeper. 

The baked potato evolved into canned potatoes, the corn on the cob became a can of corn but everything else remains pretty much the same.

This year there were a number of introductions.  From different meals we had leftover caramelized onions, peppers and onions and baked beans. 

I wasn't keen on putting the beans and peppers/onions into the skillet with everything else, so I warmed them up in a separate pot all mixed together.  The beans/peppers/onions were really good on the side and I think that will be a new tradition!

So here’s the basic recipe and it easily feeds 6 to 8 people.

1 lb. Bacon, Cut into Thirds

1 lb. Breakfast Sausage Links, Diced

1 Onion

1 Can of Corn

2 Cans Canned Potatoes, Diced

12 Eggs

6 Slices American Cheese

Add whatever else you fancy

In a large pot or pan . . . I use an 18” cast iron skillet . . . fry the bacon until crispy.  Remove some of the grease if there’s a lot.  Add the sausage and cook through.  Add the corn and onions and cook until they start to caramelize.  Add the potatoes and heat through.  Season with Tony Chachere!  Add the eggs and cook until scrambled then top with the cheese. Stir until the cheese is all melty.  Serve and top with hot sauce.

Awesome with baked beans on the side!

OMG!  It is soooooo good! NOT diet food, by any stretch of the imagination!

(See Episode 1 of Campy Camping)

(See Episode 2 of Campy Camping)

(See Episode 3 of Campy Camping)

(See Episode 4 of Campy Camping)

(See Episode 5 of Campy Camping)

Campy Camping - Episode 5

I'm not exactly what would be referred to as people person.  There is generally nothing in my attitude or posture that invites unsolicited conversation from strangers.  I don't want or require small talk or random confabulation. 

Parlez vous no, nein, nyet!

So on one of my treks to the toilet . . . mind you, since I have to hike all the way to the bathroom (okay it’s only something like 150 steps) I wait until I can’t wait any longer to go . . .

Anyhoo . . . on one of my treks to the toilet I heard a disembodied voice calling out from of the shower rooms.

“Do you need to use the shower?”

Did I stink?  B.O. check . . . nope fresh and clean as a newly hatched daisy.

So, why the owner of this voice might think I’d want or need a shower I don’t know. I wasn’t dithering . . . I was making a direct and purposeful bee-line for the potty . . . bladder screaming.

“Uh, no, thanks.” I replied as I continued onward, forward and into the bathroom.

Just as I’m about to enter the stall when a woman called out and started talking to me.  I should have just kept right on going because I really had to go.

Presumably this was the owner of the voice from the shower as she had slicked back wet hair.  She was also sporting a green toothbrush in one hand and a towel in the other.

She started asking me how I liked the campground. 

“Uhm, its okay, I guess.” 

I started to turn away then she started blathering on about this and that . . .  hopping from random topic to obscure subject.

Legs crossed, jaw clenched.

I may not be a people person but I’m also not rude.  So I stood there and responded in the appropriate places with “uh huh”, “yes”, “no”, etc.

Begin the pee-pee dance.

She talked about personal hygiene, how kids today are inconsiderate, Dr. Phil and lord knows what else . . . I started zoning out . . . all the while she’s shoving the toothbrush all around in her mouth.

I thought briefly of making a break for the toilet and locking the stall door behind me.  But she seemed the type who might climb under the door and keep right on yapping.

Stalker.

I got my chance when a gaggle of giggling teen age girls came in.  While I was taking care of business I heard her ask the girls if they thought it was right to not flush the toilet, asked if they washed their hands after using the bathroom and gave them a lesson on “if you sprinkle when you tinkle, be a sweetie and wipe the seatie”.  I kid you not.

I went as fast as I could without rupturing any internals and got out of there while she was lecturing the poor unsuspecting girls.  Better them than me!

I’m almost to the path that leads to our site when I hear her calling out from behind me . . .

“Hey wait up . . . I’m going this way, too.”

**sigh**

I didn’t stop but she caught up with me . . . I should’ve just made a mad dash to the campsite.  But then she would’ve known where I was camping . . . I couldn’t have that!

She yip yapped all the way . . . waiving her toothbrush around like she was leading an insane orchestra and I was the captive audience.

Finally, we reached the point where we were to part ways.  There was no WAY I was bringing her home with me! 

I was like, “Uhm, I have to go.  My husband must be wondering what’s happened to me.”

I left her standing there looking somewhat dejected. 

I found out later that her campsite wasn’t anywhere near mine and there was no reason for her to follow me around like a deranged puppy chewing my ear off.

I managed to avoid her the rest of the weekend . . . ducking behind cover or pulling my sweatshirt hood up over my head.  That is until we were packing up.  I saw her walking up the road as we were loading the truck.

“Pssst . . . that’s her.”  I whispered to my husband while I ducked under the tailgate.  “No eye contact!”    Too late.

“Oh!! There you are!” she hollered.

“Yeah, we’re just leaving.” I said as I climbed into the truck and I closed my door.

Hasta la locura,  you whacked out gum flapping bizarro senora! 

Campy Camping - Episode 4

One of the things I like about camping . . . besides doing not much of anything, relaxing by a raging fire and drinking beer (or whatever) at the crack of dawn without anyone giving me grief . . . is bedtime.

We . . . hubby and I . . . have a big giant double wide sleeping bad laid over a queen size air mattress.  It’s a very warm sleeping bag made even warmer by hubby’s hot body.

So, I love when it’s time to hit the sack and getting all snuggly and cozy in the sleeping bag, reading in the dark, listening to the crackling embers of the dying fire and the whispers of quiet conversations from the surrounding campsites . . . assuming said neighbors aren’t’ being loud and obnoxious.

Quiet time at our campground is from 10 PM to 7 Am . . . a reasonable mandate.

So, on night hubby and I were all cozy and comfy.  Me quietly snoozing . . . or loudly for all I know because hubby claims I snore . . . and him reading.

Unbeknownst to me, on this particular night, there was a bit of drama and I missed the whole thing.

Around midnight . . . well past designated quiet time . . . some happy (and likely intoxicated) camper decided it was a good time to rock some tunes . . . loudly.

Hubby, not inclined to take crap from anyone . . . especially when he’s all cozy warm in his big honkin’ sleeping bag next to his beautiful and talented wife during the anniversary of their honeymoon camping trip . . . had had enough of these raucous rock-n-rollers.

Me?  Comfortable and clueless.

So, he climbed out of the warmth of his bed into the chill October night air.  He grabbed his 120 lumen flashlight and slipped into the music filled darkness. 

The camp manager’s campsite happened to be right across from us so he shined that super bright flashlight into the windows of their camper hoping to gain the attention of their yippity, yappity, howly beagles who in turn would wake up their owners who would then hear the music and shut them the hell up.

Well, that plan failed . . . like me, beagles apparently are sound sleepers.

With what I can imagine was a bit of a grumpy attitude, hubby headed off into the darkness to track down the source of the disrupted quietude.

Once located, he shined his very bright flashlight right into the eyes of the perpetrator and announced in a firm authoritative tone . . .

 

“You!  Your music can be heard all over the campground.

“Quiet time is at 10:00 o’clock.

“Kill it or leave.”

In a subdued and submissive tone the rock-n-roller replied, “I’m sorry, sir.  I didn’t know anyone else could hear it.”

Hubby flicked off his light and slipped into the cover of darkness.

Quiet again fell over the sleepy smoke hazed campground.

Hubby returned to bed.

(See Episode 1 of Campy Camping)

(See Episode 2 of Campy Camping)

(See Episode 3 of Campy Camping)

Campy Camping - Episode 3

The campground we stay at for our fall camping trip is fairly small and rustic.

Its right along a river with 30 wooded sites and minimal (meaning zero) amenities . . . no internet, power or even cell phone signal.

One of the things I like best about this campground is the bathroom facilities.  These I would rate as excellent . . . as far as campground bathrooms go. 

Meaning it’s not a nasty ol’ pit toilet.  In fact, it’s a regularly maintained facilty . . . cleaned and restocked three times a day . . . with real toilets and their sort of bug free . . . sort of . . . but it’s clean.

Several times during our trip when I went to use the toilet someone . . . a lazy slovenly some she . . . had tinkled on the toilet seat.  

At one point some she or a pack of she’s had piddled on every single toilet seat and didn’t even bother to wipe the seat of for the next person.   So, a whole herd of she’s must have set upon the bathroom and dribbled all over the place.

Disgusting!

Anyway . . . I’m saddened to think that I live in a world where there is so little consideration for other people that you would expect them to either sit in your puddle of piss or clean up after you.

The thought of squatting in the woods was starting to appeal to me . . . I have a Go-Girl but I bought it for an emergency and I didn’t necessarily want to use it when there was a real bathroom so close by.  

So, I took to carrying a Lysol disinfecting wipe with me to the bathroom. 

My point is . . . hmmm . . . . well, I guess my only point is to vent and express my exasperation about these pigs.

Oink!

  

(See Episode 1 of Campy Camping)

(See Episode 2 of Campy Camping)

Campy Camping - Episode two

This was vacation right?  Albeit a short one but a vacation nonetheless.

One of the very few things I wanted to accomplish on my vacation was to read . . . a lot.

So, I left my hubby screaming and hollering and debating about politics with our fellow campmates.  I took my chair and book . . . er Kindle . . . and sequestered myself down by the river to do just that . . . read.

It was very peaceful . . . the river flowing lazily by, the birds chirping, the frogs peeping, the falling leaves . . . lovely.

Alas, all good things bust come to an abrupt and brutal end. 

I had been enjoying my solitude for maybe 30 minutes when from behind me I hear, “Honey? We have some work to do.”

Unfortunately, I was the “honey” in question.

It had rained all night long and apparently the floor to our tent wasn’t as watertight as it should have been.

Basically, a small lake had formed under our tent on top of the ground cloth we had laid down.

And that lake was seeping through the seams in the tent floor creating a subsequent pond under our air mattress.

Everything had to come out of the tent.  Thankfully, the vinyl underside of the mattress protected our sleeping bag from complete soppiness but everything was damp and had to be air out. 

Good thing the sun was shining and the day was warm.

Hubby soaked up the water with our dishwashing sponge, dried the floor with a  towel and applied Gorilla Tape to the seams to prevent further water infiltration.

If you’ve never heard of or used Gorilla Tape, it’s amazing stuff.  Sticks to just about anything and sticks good! 

Anyhoo . . . the inside issues addressed, he moved on to the lake under the tent.  He shoved a towel underneath and wrang it out over and over again to remove as much water as possible . . . he got most of it. 

Then he shoved a milk crate under the tent / on top of the tarp to get some air circulation to finish drying.

Then we had margaritas and tequila.

By bedtime everything was dry and all was well.

Ah . . . the adventures of camping.

(See Episode 1 of Campy Camping)

Campy Camping - Episode 1

Hubby and I were off camping in the wild north woods of Connecticut for our annual fall camp out.

When we got there we set up under the threat of rain but manage to get our gear in order before any major wetness ensued.

In fact, we managed to enjoy our first beer of the trip and most of dinner before all hell broke loose.

It rained . . .   

                     hard . . .

                                     all . . . night . . . long.

At some point at some ridiculously dark hour I heard hubby fumbling and stumbling around inside the tent.

I had to pee for hours but the pitter patter of lotsa little raindrops on the top of the tent was about as good a reason as any to stay zipped in and suffer through insistence of my bladder that it was really REALLY full.

So, as he was exiting the relative warmth and comfort of our nylon and mesh enclosure I followed him.

I couldn’t ignore my need any longer.

Being a girl, I can’t easily stagger to the nearest tree to relieve myself like my hubby can.

No, I have to wander in the dark over the river, through the woods, up hill through the snow (both ways) to go to the campground’s bathroom.

Anyhoo . . . flash forward . . .

We’re back in the tent getting all snuggly warm again in our king-size double-wide sleeping bag.

Hubby looked at the clock:  5:30 AM . . . a dark, drippy, damp, foggy 5:30 AM.

He was like, “I’m never going to get back to sleep.”

So much for sleeping in on vacation.  **sigh**

Being a lovey dovey mush hound, I said, “I love you.”

“I love you more,” he replied.

“I love you more.”

“No, I love you more!”

It went on like this for a while, then I said, “Let’s have sex.”

“Now?  Before I’ve had coffee?? Are you trying to kill me?!” was the response.

“Yeah, let’s have sex.”

“See, that proves it!  I really DO love you more!”

Whatever.

I was still pretty tired really wanted to go back to sleep for a while.  “Okay, I’ll stop talking now so we can go back to sleep.”

He said, “Why don’t you keep talking . . . that way I’m sure to fall back to sleep.”

Nice, huh?