When we were little, Papa used to take us grandbabies camping on the top of the hill behind Granny and Papa’s house. We would haul the kids’ picnic table to the top of the hill (read: Papa would put it in the back of his truck and drive it to the top of the hill for us) and Granny would load us up with hotdogs, buns and marshmallows for a lunch by the campfire. We always had a big time. I can smell the marshmallows burning just thinking about it. Oh man, those were the days.
I recently found some photos of these camping adventures in some old family albums.
Here’s my sister Eugene at age 3, roasting a branch and channeling her inner Pocahontas. She was wearing her idol’s shirt for good vibes.
On this particular afternoon, it appears I was thrilled to be roughing it in the backyard at the Fisher-Price picnic table. Cousin Lauren looks significantly less thrilled.
A few minutes later, there was quite a shift in the mood. Cousin Lauren is proudly displaying a walnut as I manage a smirk and continue to slouch. My dad would be so displeased with my posture in these pictures.
And, for Pocahontas, it’s 5 o’clock somewhere.
Here is Pocahontas doing a little interpretive dance after her beverage. Or maybe she had to go to the bathroom. Either way, she was really getting the most out of our afternoon in the wilderness.
Always an adventure “camping” with Papa.
Y’all keep it real,