Glamping [glam-ping] – noun/informal… defined as the activity of ‘camping’ with the comforts and luxuries of home.
What?
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment