Love It, Hate It, or Both?

Many years ago, when our kids were growing up, we spent a fair bit of time camping at Spruce Woods Provincial Park. It was less than half an hour from the home which made it quick to get to. But it was also close enough to the farm in case something went wrong.

I often ask: when a farmer goes away, are they really away? I know I wasn’t. There was always that little part of my brain wondering what was happening back at the farm. Was everything running properly? Was there a problem with the livestock? Was someone going to call? Did I remember to leave instructions for everything? I might have been sitting around a campfire, but mentally, I was never more than 30 minutes from the farm.

Eventually, the kids got older, and we stopped camping altogether. Nobody talked about camping for years. And I certainly wasn't going to bring it up.

Then the grandkids came along, and my wife started dropping hints about how great it would be to take the kids camping. I resisted. The thought of hot campers, mosquitoes, uncomfortable beds and trying to keep everyone organized wasn’t exactly appealing.

A few years ago, my daughter sent a text to the family. They had booked a group campsite at Spruce Woods and wanted to know if anyone wanted to join them. My wife was at work. I was sitting in my office thinking about it. I knew how much she'd enjoy being with the kids and grandkids. Maybe I needed to make an effort. So I borrowed a pop-up camper, and off we went.

Something happened that I didn't expect. I enjoyed it. More importantly, I felt good. There was something about getting away from home, sitting around a campfire, spending time with family that seemed to do something for me.

When we got home, I told my wife that I thought the weekend had been good for my mental health. Her response surprised me. She said she could tell. Apparently, I seemed more relaxed and happier. So we have got back into camping.

Which brings me to a question I sometimes ask myself. Why do we do this?

We have a perfectly comfortable house. A comfortable bed. A kitchen. Running water. Air conditioning. No mosquitoes inside. Yet every summer, we spend days packing, organizing, checking, loading and hooking everything up. Then we arrive and the work begins again, just in reverse. And eventually, after all that work, we sit down. And that's when I remember why we do it. Camping slows me down.

At home there’s always another email, another phone call or another job on the list. Camping changes that. Breakfast takes longer. Coffee takes longer. Conversations take longer. We might sit around a campfire for hours without accomplishing anything whatsoever. And somehow, that feels like an accomplishment.  

There is something about sitting around a fire that is difficult to explain. Conversations wander. Someone tells a story. Someone remembers something from years ago. There is laughing, teasing and occasionally a conversation that gets a little deeper than anyone expected. And sometimes we don't talk at all. We just watch the fire.

The grandkids have probably played a bigger role in this than they realize. Give them some trees, a stick, a ball, a bike, a fire and a little freedom, and they can create an entire day out of it. They explore. They get dirty. They argue. They laugh. They come back hungry. And then they do it all over again.

Maybe adults could learn something from that. Our brains don't get much quiet anymore. Notifications, news, emails, social media, work and our own problems keep them running even when we are sitting still.

Camping gives my brain permission to stop. It's not necessarily because I slept better. Some nights I don't. It's not because I ate better. I probably didn't. And it's certainly not because I was more comfortable.

I think I come home feeling better because, for a few days, I’m not worrying so much about what needs to be done next.

We often think taking care of ourselves means doing more: exercising, eating better or accomplishing something. But maybe sometimes it means doing less. Sitting in a lawn chair with a coffee. Watching the grandkids run around. Staring into a fire for no particular reason.

Camping has reminded me that I don't always have to be productive. I don't always have to solve something. I don't always have to think about what's next. Sometimes I can just be where I am.

Camping wasn't therapy. It wasn't a treatment plan. I didn't start doing it because I thought it would improve my mental health. I went because my family wanted to go.

Somewhere along the way, I discovered that getting away from the things I thought I needed to be doing was actually good for me. It reminded me that spending time with people we love isn't time wasted, and that being present can be more important than being productive.

So, do I love camping? Do I hate it? Honestly, probably both. I still don't love the packing, unpacking, mosquitoes, weather, sand and general inconvenience. But I definitely love what it does for me.

Sometimes the thing we resist most is exactly what we need.