Thursday, February 18, 2010

Sleeping through a thunderstorm


The kids were elementary school age. Our Sunday School class was active and friendly. A weekend family camping trip to Turkey Run State Park offered the stuff that memories are made of.

We were not seasoned campers, but we were willing. I loaded our "Jimmy 4x4" with a tent, sleeping bags, and other outdoor paraphenalia that would offer us an idyllic 72 hour respite from the mundane. We were pioneers. We were conquerors. We were campers.

It's a long drive from Northeastern Indiana to Southwestern Indiana, but the trip was filled with anticipation and joy as we left our driveway that Friday afternoon heading for Turkey Run to join other families sharing our enthusiasm for the great outdoors.

We arrived there late afternoon. I had read somewhere that pitching a tent on high ground was a reasonable and prudent thing to do. I did just that. The tent went up easily. The sleeping bags were nestled in the erected shelter, the sleeping arrangements were assigned, the campout had begun.

The first night festivities were boisterous. A campfire, s'mores, children's squeals of delight, adult laughter and fellowship, all combined to convince us that we were truly designed for this type of recreation. Plans were made to combine our food for a community breakfast the next morning. Someone had even brought an electric skillet (!) to make sausage gravy for the campfire biscuits that we were planning to make. Extension cords stretched to a nearby outlet would provide the power needed to make a steaming cauldron of gravy. All the comforts of home.

Families turned in to their beckoning sleeping quarters around midnight. Visions of the day's glee filled our heads and thoughts of tomorrow's adventures trundled us off to sleep.

Somewhere around 2 a.m. the lightning was sharp. The thunder rumbled ominously. The rain pelted our defenseless little canvas tent relentlessly. I was smug. I was confident. We could weather out this rogue summer downpour. I congratulated myself on finding high ground. Of providing shelter for my little family; keeping them high, dry, and protected. I was a pioneer! I was a camper! I was naive.

Opening one eye at dawn, I was more than a little surprised to see my Reebok tennis shoe floating by my sleeping bag. Further inspection revealed that all that we owned inside the tent was drenched. Soaked through and through. Not a dry spot in the place. The torrential rain had found our little refuge. It scoffed at my high ground location.

Last night's storm had abated leaving a gray morning with sprinkles mocking us as we slogged over to our community breakfast location. The expressions of glee evident the night before had become more solemn, and in some cases, even surly. Camping? Bah! Whose idea was this, anyway?

Those tending the sausage and gravy preparation were warned about standing ankle deep in rainwater while stirring their creation in the eletric skillet. We certainly weren't prepared to deal with electrocution, or even have the energy to do so if called upon. We were all tired, hungry, cranky, and wet.

My wife is a good sport, but I knew that her good will had been stretched beyond capacity. She disappeared shortly after breakfast with the children. I resignedly took down the tent, wrung out the contents best I could, and stowed everything away in the car anticipating that we would cut our weekend short and head back home defeated, licking our wounds.

The sun came out a couple hours later. Where in the world were Jo and the kids? She hadn't returned to the campsite. She had been very quiet at breakfast. And then her departure to...where? Was this the final straw? Was this the impulsive act that drove her to some desperate measure? I began to feel a rising sense of panic.

At long last, and to my relief, my family came walking back into the campsite. I welcomed them with the pronouncement that the gear was wrung out, the car was packed, and we could leave at will. I was doing all I could to make the transition from our night of Nature's wrath as comfortable as possible.

However, Jo said, "No, we're not leaving."

Excuse me? You want to spend another night in the tent? You want to sleep in damp sleeping bags? You want to what? This woman, I thought, truly is a pioneer!

"No", she replied, "we're not sleeping in the tent. I have plastic. I got us a room for tonight at the Inn."

Ha! We gave in, you say? We couldn't stand the rigors of the outdoors? Well, let me tell you: the room we had at the inn that night offered only black and white television. Roughing it? We were designed for it.

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