Escaping Electricity

It started as a nutty idea. Some maniac in the family decided that we need to travel in to the woods and pitch a tent. Spend good time and money to get back to nature.
I have a better idea. We can just lay in the grass, invading the space of an unsuspecting neighbor. A coffee machine perking just a few feet away from the pool.
Or we can read Henry David Thoreau and have a informal group discussion. The concept of 'getting back' to nature is like people getting back in shape. Most people think they were once in shape but, in reality, we were all just young.

Growing up in Queens, nature was located in the abandon lot near Aqueduct racetrack. It's still there, I checked via google Earth.

My parents had the same misconception of a vacation. We spent weeks at a time in the Catskills. A large canvas tent barely kept out the frequent rain if you didn't touch the sides. It was the only type of vacation my parents could budget. It's good to have those memories.

Lisa's side of the family began my rural nightmare in 1991. They waited until I was married then sprung it on me. On the first trip it rained so much we left. My brother in law, Pasquale, was yelling "With the money I spent on this tent I should have bought a @#$% canoe!"
He was cursed with a nylon tent. You don't even have to touch the sides for them to leak. That should have ended camping forever. But Lisa's family continued to book campsites all over New York State. Year after year I would be dragged to visit the possible filming location for the movie Deliverance.

To help ease the pain I recruited other family members. Last weekend my niece Jennifer opted instead for a Horror Convention in Rochester. Can you imagine a vacation so twisted that a horror convention is the better option?

When we added some reluctant friends to the camping list it became less like camping and more like a large outdoor picnic. Alcohol being the next helpful ingredient.

Mongaup Pond has poor fishing but some attempted nonetheless. Canoeing is a popular pastime.

Everyone vocally pondered things around the campfire. "How many stars can you see?" "If Pluto is a dog, what is Goofy?" "What's your dream job?" (Note: No one picked Forrest Ranger... or Elevator Mechanic)
The kids played charades and telephone. (The youngest now being Rebecca at age 12.)

Almost twenty Summers later, Pasquale & Karen now own a pop-up trailer. Billy put a large magnet poster on that same trailer "I love gay porn".
Many of my nieces and nephews are no longer kids. I laughed as they reminisced about prior years of rainy camping weather when they were young.

No texting in the Catskills. I doubt the locals even know what it is. Battery operated radios are the only connection to a civilized society. My three angels adjusted well to the Amish lifestyle because they know it's temporary. The poke wars will resume shortly.