Our family did a lot of camping. "Let's go campin'!" "We're goin' campin'!" we would cry.
We always had a Buick, and each time Dad traded in one, he'd get another. Always blue, and huge, with those three distinctive Buick "vents" on the front fenders. We had a Sears motorboat. Yes, a Sears motorboat, you heard me right. What was the old joke Frank Zappa used to say? "Is that a real poncho, or is that a Sears poncho?" Is that a real motorboat, or a Sears motorboat? We also had a Sears tent. I guess maybe the brand name of all these items was really Coleman, now that I think about it. I can see Coleman, Coleman everywhere in my mind's eye as I visualize the green cooler, lanterns, the tent, sleeping bags, porto-potty and all the boating gear, life vests, oars, rafts, seat covers, etc. My folks really liked to shop at Sears, and so did I. My favorite thing in the late fall every year was when we received the enormous Sears catalog in the mail. I would grab it from my mother and spend hours upon days in my bedroom looking at the toys and clothes. I would give her a lengthy Christmas list, like those you see Santa holding in cartoons and on greeting cards. She would often buy me every, single thing on it.
Campin' was a special treat. Our Sears Coleman tent was enormous. It was like a small house. It had one large "room" in the middle after you walked through the triple entry door. It was made of extremely heavy, blue canvas. It was stored inside of a gray plastic-like-rubber-ish protective cover when not in use, and my brother Nick would place it high up in the rafters of the garage over Fritz's head, where it would await our next excursion to New Hampshire or Maine.
The tent would later suffer its fate at the hands of me and my teenage friends, when, during my 14th birthday party we had Nick set up the tent on the "Village Green" between my house and Andrea's. All my friends came over, and we smoked cigarettes inside the tent. Mom came in to check on us throughout the party, and would say, "So much smoke, you can cut it with a knife!" I remain astonished that she permitted me to smoke cigarettes. During the party, we all sat Indian-style against the walls of the tent. There were about 20 friends, mostly girls. By the end of the night, we had leaned against the walls with such force that we tore the seams of the tent. It was to be the last time the tent would ever be used. The next time we went camping, Dad rented a Winnebago! But that's a whole 'nuther story.
The entry door to the tent consisted of a 6-foot by 4-foot opening that had one layer of zippered screen material to keep the bugs out, but allowed us to have air. If we left the tent to go hiking or boating, or in the night to keep bears at bay, we'd close the second layer, which was the same size zippered material that matched the rest of the blue canvas. The third layer, which you'd only use from the outside if you were leaving, was more blue canvas in the form of two 2-foot by 6-foot sections of blue canvas that flapped over the top of the two bottom layers. You could tie the two flaps off to the side to keep them from flapping constantly when you needed to go in and out of the tent, or when you were inside. There was also a canopy to stand underneath while outside the tent, which provided shade so the tent wouldn't become overheated inside.
Inside was the large room in the middle, and two smaller "rooms," one on either side, if you stood in the middle of the monstrosity. There were three windows, each of which had the same zippered paraphernalia as the entry door, one at the back of the tent in the large room area, and one in each "bedroom" area. Mom and Dad slept on one side, Nick and me on the other. Frank rarely accompanied us on these camping trips, but when he did, he and Nick would be in the middle, and I'd get the "bedroom" all to myself. We had modern cots made from hollow metal frames, and plastic mattresses that were about two inches thick, striped dark green, light green and white on one side, and all dark green on the other. The mattresses were reversible.
We had a Coleman gas grill, and lanterns that we'd use at dinner time, and in the night while playing cards outside on the picnic table at whichever campground we happened to be visiting. A hammock was always strung between two trees, and Dad spent a lot of time snoring away swinging in the hammock.
But where were the dogs? I recall once or twice bringing Sam with us camping, but I know for a fact we'd never in a million years take Fritz, and we always had so many cats. I wonder who took care of the pets while we were gone. I have absolutely no recollection, whatsoever.
The part I liked the least was having to use the porto-potty. This was a plastic toilet seat that clipped onto a set of hollow metal legs, much like a 1950s TV tray table. Plastic waste bags would hook under the seat and hang down beneath it. We only used it in the middle of the night if we had to "go", but I used it every time, because I was so spoiled I would refuse to go in the woods or use the outhouse at the campground. For some reason, it always seemed to rain when we camped, and that meant that the porto-potty would sometimes not get emptied until the rain stopped. To this day, I can still conjure up the damp, dank scent of urine sometimes when I'm outside during a summer rain.
Setting up the tent was a production. The tent poles and stakes were carefully stored inside the protective sheath, and counted as they were put away. If you lost one pole or stake, it would be a disaster. Nick was an expert at erecting the tent, the huge heavy metal tent poles clanging as he propped them over his head while Mom or Dad held them in place until he could position them correctly over the tent's incredible weight. Then, he'd hammer the stakes into the ground one-by-one. One stake on each corner, followed by several along the four sides of the tent. When disassembling the tent, if a stake went missing, everyone dropped everything to search for the missing stake. When the count was correct, we would breathe a sigh of relief and the tent was placed safely in the bottom of the boat for the trip home.
We loved boating. I think we went boating every single weekend of every summer, and as often as we could during the week. Dad worked for the U.S. Army Laboratories in Natick, which was located on Lake Cochituate. We knew the lake like the back of our hands. Still today, when I drive by Lake Cochituate in the car, I recognize special places: bridges we went under, tunnels, coves and beaches. The other lake we spent a lot of time at was Webster Lake in Webster, Mass. Our favorite thing to do was to make Mom say the real name of the lake because she always said it wrong. The real name is Lake Chargoggagoggmanchaugagoggchabunagungamaug. But Mom called it "Lake Chabunagungamaug." The meaning of the big, long word, in Native American is "you fish on your side, I fish on mine, and no one fishes in between" or something like that.
Nick was the water skier of the family. Frank, too, but Nick was more often present as Frank lived out of state and was in the service and stuff like that. I think I tried water skiing once. I have always been such a weakling, there was no way I could stay up on those skis and hold onto the tow rope. Instead, the family dubbed me "Commander Kathy" and even had a special life vest made for me, child-sized, that actually said "Commander Kathy" on it. It always bugged me that Commander was spelled with a "C" and Kathy with a "K". I've always been a words-and-letters person, from way back. They tell me I was reading by age 4, I don't know if that's true. But I have always been obsessed with words and letters. I always wanted that life vest to say "Commander Cathy" or "Kommander Kathy" but not "Commander Kathy" -- it just never seemed right in my savant way of thinking, like there was an error that needed to be corrected.
Hooking the boat to the back of the car on a trailer hitch, and then using winches and ropes to secure it down onto its trailer was also a big production, as was un-doing all of that when we arrived at whichever lake we had chosen that day, and launching the boat. Dad would do the driving, Mom would holler things like "More left!" or "To the right!" "Hold it!"or "WHOA!!" Nick and Frank would fasten and unfasten all the clips and hooks.
Inside the boat was the enormous green Coleman cooler that was our pride and joy. I remember when we got that cooler, we were all so excited. It was the coolest thing (sorry, I couldn't resist). It actually was made out of refrigerator material, and the neatest parts were the lock on the door of the cooler, and the little drainage spout on the bottom that Dad would open up at the end of the day, tilt the cooler, and all the melted ice (water) would pour out onto the ground of the campsite or beach. We always had enough food for an army, yet by the end of the day we were so hungry that we'd often stop at Dairy Queen for supper. I loved the hamburgers, hot dogs and Mister Misty Kisses. Mom devoured the Dilly Bars, and would always buy a box to bring home.
The most memorable trip we took was to Nova Scotia and the Bay of Fundy. Since we camped the whole way up there and back, we must have set up that tent ten times that vacation. And launched the boat another ten. I remember rafting down a rushing river on plastic, inflatable rafts with Dad. The river was really shallow, even a child could stand up and it was only up to your knees, but it rushed so fast, you'd be from one end to the other in two seconds, and then you'd have to hike back up to the beginning, barefoot and walking on stones and rocks, carrying your often deflating raft, blow it back up and do it again. Mom would come pick us up in the car after we did it about 100 times, and we'd go back to camp, exhausted and happy.
All original material copyright © Kathleen S. Mueller. All rights reserved.