Camp Corbett: Labor Day Weekend
This was only the second time in my entire life I’ve been camping. I had reservations about visiting Camp Corbett, the camping grounds of our pals Brian and Rachel, but I told the hubs I could do it. I can use the bathroom in the woods. I can sleep in a tent. I can deal without being able to clean up. Too bad I really didn’t have to deal with any of that.
First off, let me describe the camp grounds: a small lot with a thicket of woods on 3 sides and a gravel road bringing you in. There’s a little shed with a lovely tin-roofed porch off the back. And it has electricity. Great for MP3 players. And twinkle lights. Mind you, there was no running water. That was the “roughing it” part.
I have to say my favorite part about the camp grounds were the little details that the Corbetts had all around. Brian said that he’d been coming here since he was 10 and there was evidence that the place was well used. But the small things are what kept my interest.
And I had to compliment the handywork of Brian as he had spent most of the week camping to build a run for their doggins, Buster and Roxy, and enclose the bathroom. And Brian, I really appreciated the new stall – the fact that no one could see my fanny made me feel much better.
Oh and look flowers! I was pretty excited to see the wild flowers. They were growing down the right side of the camp, so pretty, so yellow. But I didn’t dare walk out into them. I heard the ticks were just awful so I loaded up on OFF every chance that I got. Whoa, was that a self-canceling phrase? Anywho, as far as I can tell there are no bug bites to mention. Nada. Knock on wood none appear overnight.
And there was bacon. God love the woman who cooked this up. Rachel, I heart you.
So after we all stuffed our faces with bacon and eggs and fruit bars and orange juice and fudge stripe cookies (hey, I don’t judge you for eating Pop Tarts, OK?) we got our swimmies on and headed for the lake. Or was it a cove? I don’t know. I do know that it’s attached to Rough River because that’s where we were. But boating is for another day. Because I haven’t figured out how to make myself look thinner and tanner with Photoshop.
We eventually made it back to the campgrounds because we ran out of beer to freshen up and relax before dinner time. Buster and Roxy were so pooped.
And so was I. I nodded off at least twice in my camping chair. But we hung out, ate, drank, told jokes, played cornhole… all that jazz. I learned that I absolutely suck at cornhole. I could blame it on my glasses but then the state would likely revoke my drivers license.
And so this is what we did until the sun went down. We [sans the hubs because he put himself to bed at 8pm] sat around the camp fire, toasted marshmallows until the skies broke and golfball size raindrops fell. And then we played Apples to Apples, invented “mouth pizza”, learned that Alan didn’t know who Anne Frank was… just enjoyed each other’s company. Because it doesn’t matter where we are, we always have a good time.
I have to say that I have some of the best pals out there. Each one is different yet absolutely perfect. And I wouldn’t trade them for the world.