Glamping [glam-ping] – noun/informal… defined as the activity of ‘camping’ with the comforts and luxuries of home.
I am a ‘tweener’ (Oh Lordie, Hank, I told you he is smokin’ Colorado Whacky Weed.) No, Irma, that just means I was born between the Baby-Boomer generation and the Generation-‘X’.
Anyway, I remember a time that ‘camping’ was evolving into an actual leisure activity. Coleman made a stove that didn’t require ‘Ma’ scrubbing ¾” of fire-soot of the pan, Chevy Chase was starring in movie roles with a “mobile-home”, and gray-haired white folks were plastering “Good-Sam” stickers on their trailers and wearing matching embroidered satin coats - with an authentic looking Schnauzers and clever scripts above the pocket. In other words, America was evolving from tents by a camp-fire – to a more congenial wilderness respite.
That being said, I think John Muir might be a little disconcerted about where America’s holiday retreats have taken the camping culture.
Before I let my mighty pen (ok, Bluetooth keyboard) excoriate the mass ‘glamping’ crowd- I must provide full-disclosure. I am ‘penning’ this on my Microsoft Surface Pro 4, air-conditioning swirling around the dark-wood interior of my small luxury home-on-wheels.
This evening, as I took Bella (adventures of this neurotic canine Olympia Dukakis forthcoming – stay tuned) for our evening constitution, I smiled at the families gathered round the campfire…watching the 2016 NBA finals?!?!?!? Yes, it’s true. (Spoiler alert – Golden State will win game four…) Perhaps every third ‘camper’ I pass has the game on a large screen television in the living area. Heck, my nearest neighbor has an “outside t.v.” playing the game to a crowd (also ‘throwing back’ to marshmallow roasting over an open fire). Hmmmmm….
|High tech tent camping|
I will not judge! Heck, there was a time when a quick form of travel was a “carriage with a brace of four” (read Charles Dickens if you need help with that reference). America had blacksmiths in every town. So, naturally, we continue to “move forward”. But personally, I must admit, I am hoping my granddaughter and I ‘sneak’ back to camp after catching a jar full of fireflies. Only to find ‘grandma Marci’ shushing us off to bed. I don’t really want to take my home with me. I am looking for an escape ‘out here’.
Do not fret – I hope you all enjoy your satellite television and microwave ovens, but allow me to reminisce and pine for another age. Where Sunday morning returns home are filled with the washing of smoke smelling clothes and marshmallow sticky cheeks.