Roughin’ it

Camping is alright,
Camping’s okay,
I’m getting all packed up to go camping today,

When young I would run around giddy with glee,
At the thought of sleeping under bright stars and big trees,
I’d get anxious and hopeful and weak in the knees,
To breath the fresh air with the birds and the bees,

But grown and mature I have come to believe,
That a small tenderfoot is extremely naive,
To the reality that the great wild holds,
And a wiser grown man might not be so bold,

First there’s the travel with hours in the car,
The packing and driving in traffic so far,
The stopping each hour to stretch and to go,
The stomach-ache, gravelly, winding back roads,
You arrive at the place full of dirt, dust and rocks,
Look forward to all of it lodged in your socks,
Pitch your new tent with the poles and the stakes,
3 hours cannot make it worth what it takes,
Start the food and the fire to prepare for the night,
But you burn your hot dog and the rations are tight,
On with the S’mores and the marshmallow stick,
“Yeah, I like it burnt!” but it just makes you sick,
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Thin layers of plastic between you and a rock,
Even criminals don’t have to sleep on the ground,
Stomach-a-bubblin’, strange animal sounds,
Somehow you fade and manage some Zs,
Til you wake to the sound of the rattlin’ trees,
Some Thing is close to your sleeping bag now,
You lie to yourself, “It’s a puppy, or cow,”
5 terror-filled hours thinking God knows what might,
Praying only to live through the rest of the night,

The sun’s light brings safety and new sounds of happy,
But with only 2 winks, feeling truly crappy,
In no mood to hike, fish, or stay a new night,
You couldn’t move faster to leave the campsite,
Breaking new land speed records to drive back to town,
In the gate and the door to your bed to lay down,
And sleep in the cushiony, pillowy bliss,
If there’s a moral, I think, it could only be this:

Camping can make you real cranky and soar,
But it sure makes you appreciate civilization more!