Camping

Some long-time readers of Edith's blog may remember that we tried camping as a family for the first time last September in Virginia. We were hooked, especially Tom, who had been fantasizing about a return trip all year. We decided we didn't need to go all the way to Shenandoah this time to have a similar experience and this year tried out the Michaux State Forest just west of Gettysburg for a couple of days. It was an almost perfect getaway: postcard-perfect weather, peace and quiet, and 100% family time. And Edith could enjoy it that much better for being a year older. Here she is eating lunch atop Chimney Rocks, a site to which we hiked one morning. The stone that makes for such characteristic Pennsylvania architecture also makes for great bouldering about in the woods. Who needs a playground?

The very first thing Edith learned to do when we got out of the car was to follow blazes. At first she had no idea what I meant when I told her to look for the blue marks on the trees along the path, but she quickly caught on and enjoyed ferreting out the way. "The trees are telling us where to go."

The trees first led us to this fantastic cabin, part of the Potomac Appalachian Trail Club's set of "primitive" cabins along the AT from Virginia to Pennsylvania. When it came to primitiveness, the Hermitage was an order of magnitude different from Pocosin, the cabin where we stayed last year. That was truly a one-room shelter from the elements, with wooden slats for bunks, a wood stove, and almost no interior light. It was near the crest of the Blue Ridge in the backcountry, and we saw no one else the whole time we were there. Though the description of the Hermitage in the brochure was little different from Pocosin, it turned out to have glass windows, a wreath on the door, a solar composting outhouse, cooking utensils as complete as in our home, and a cabinet full of board games. It even had a dog leash and bowls for guests' use. Evidently the amenities in the various cabins can vary a great deal depending on the local overseer.

Both experiences were good in their own way: While the Hermitage surprised us with its unanticipated luxuries, Pocosin was more thoroughly removed from the rest of the world. The Hermitage is nestled in a pretty hemlock forest that is nevertheless surrounded by local roads, parks, and picnic areas, all within a mile or so.

Twenty-eight months old is not much better than sixteen months old when it comes to endurance for hiking. Though we had no expectations of a quick pace on our three-mile hikes each day, Edith nevertheless wound up riding much of the way like this. Which is more or less manageable....

...But Edith never let a family hike get in the way of her post-lunch nap, and once she became 32 pounds of dead weight, the going got considerably tougher. Tom and I have both had our bicep workouts for the month.

Bismarck took his rests when and where he could. This trip was partly a birthday celebration for him (7 years old), and he was in heaven. No leash, no restrictions, able to go everywhere with us, no neighbors to keep track of, and tons and tons of exercise. He was as stiff and hobbly as we were by the end, even without doing any of the toddler lifting.


Proving herself to be more of a track & field than a cross-country type, at one of those points when Edith could not be persuaded to walk another foot down the trail we happened on a fire pit at a campsite, and suddenly she sprang to life.

One morning Edith found a rock above our cabin that she decided was hers. Though as she told me, "God put it there."

Tooth brushing around the campfire.

The temperature was perfect: highs in the seventies with a slight chill in the evenings, enough to make one's sleeping bag feel super-cozy. At least, Tom and I thought so. Edith did not sleep well in the new surroundings, despite her daytime fascination with the sleeping loft and pride in her ability to navigate the steep ladder up and down on her own. Her discomfiture at waking up to pitch blackness made for some rather sleepless nights for Mama. Much nursing, followed by the eventual succumbing to cold and fatigue, at which point I would bring her into my sleeping bag for the remainder of the night. Have you ever slept inside a cement mixer? Edith kicked her way out of the sleeping bag and launched her self headfirst over the sweatshirts piled up as a pillow or sideways off the mattress onto the wood floor more times than I could count. No wonder we often find her jammed against the head of her crib with her arms hanging out between the bars.

"Mommy, I'm happy."