By Guest Blogger Sheila Kelly
“Gramping” is Camping While Old… not to be confused with “glamping” (which we have not succumbed to… yet) or Camping with Grandchildren (which we have done and now are done).
At ages 82 and 78, my husband Geoff and I continue to explore the world up close, regionally, nationally, and internationally. As we meet people along the way and share our backgrounds — married 57 years, 3 children, 4 grandchildren, traveled the world, wrote books, careers in business and government — the revelation that grabs most people is that we camp in a tent and sleep on the ground. Yes, with a mat, but no cot or air mattress. And we travel in a compact 4-door sedan; no trailer, truck or RV.
We live overlooking Puget Sound and the Olympic Mountains. Our house has a deck and hot tub, surrounded by trees and greenery. We don’t have to go anywhere to watch birds and wildlife. And yet we take great pleasure (and pride) in regularly stuffing our 2011 Ruby Mist Subaru Legacy with our tent, two sleeping bags, and a motley assortment of pots, pans, and utensils, and driving miles to pitch our tent in the woods — preferably along a river — and then building a campfire and sleeping on the ground.
We started camping in 1964 when we were newlyweds living in Denver. My husband and his five siblings camped regularly when he was growing up in south-central Washington state; it was all they could afford. When I was growing up, my family rented a rustic (shabby) cabin on a lake near Spokane. I failed as a Campfire Girl. I hated summer camp.
My attitude started changing as a newlywed in Colorado, the perfect place to be introduced to a new camping experience, with stunning mountain camping areas only an hour away (I never realized that was true in Washington). We bought warm, flannel-lined sleeping bags, inflatable air mattresses (Thermarest was not invented until 1971), and a heavy canvas tent. Maybe there was space-age camping gear available, but we outfitted much of our first expeditions from the neighborhood secondhand store.
A tent and sleeping bag are now my preferred lodging. (That was not true when I was twenty-something and 8 months pregnant, trying to put up a heavy canvas tent on a rainy midnight while traveling through the mountains of Tennessee…). Three children and four grandchildren later, we had racked up a respectable log of family camping outings, mostly discovering the amazing variety of campgrounds in Washington, where both Geoff and I were born and raised.
Now that we are retired and empty-nesters, we can be full-on tenters, taking additional trips for longer times.
Over the years we had upgraded our gear, slowly. We moved our wedding-gift stainless silverware to the camping box and got a new set for home. We purchased a lightweight tent and better sleeping bags. When our children left home, their foam bunk bed mattresses became cushy sleeping mats. We did a major upgrade of equipment, thanks to a generous gift certificate from our children for Geoff’s 80th birthday. Now our new sleeping bags match our newer tent, we have better mats, cookware, a new stove and camp chairs. Yes, we have had to make accommodations for our age, stiff bones, and weak bladders. These are the inconveniences that keep most of our peers home, viewing the world from their decks, close to their showers, flush toilets, and soft beds.
They are not moved by our breathless Canadian Rockies tale of that freezing morning in Jasper National Park. Overnight we had put on all the clothes and blankets we brought. We woke up to nearby snorting and snuffling, definitely distinct from snoring. We peered out of our tent to see the huge rack of an elk escorting his harem about eight feet away. We waited with respect and trepidation for the troop to pass through since we were in their territory. We shouldn’t have been surprised; the campground was named Wapiti which is Algonquin for elk. Then two playful fox kits came bounding around and up and over our picnic table. We got up, made the campfire, warmed our hands, and savored our cup of coffee.
We have seen and heard the elk in Mount Rainier National Park, but none have yet come through our campsite.
Now we are sleeping on mattresses, so not technically on the ground. But we do have to get up and down from the mattresses, often during the night. And it is the down and up that many of our peers say they just cannot do, especially the getting up, so they do not aspire to our form of gramping. (“Getting up during the night” refers to bladder matters that have changed over the years…)
I try to think of this move as a variation of Downward Facing Dog. I have a great book Sleeping Bag Yoga by Erin Widman. During my chemotherapy for non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma in 2014, I always carried a urinal in the car, for emergencies and convenience. It became a necessary camping accessory. Years before, when we took our grandchildren camping, we brought a potty chair for convenience. So, we consider the urinal a part of the family camping continuum. We have discovered that many of our fellow grampers keep some such conveniences in their tents. (Full disclosure: It was a significant milestone in my post-chemo recovery when I found I could get out of the tent in the middle of the night, find a discreet spot nearby and perform another unique yoga pose, the squatting pee, while holding on to a tree and enjoying the starry night sky.)
Geoff insists on cooking over the campfire whenever possible, not to prove his Gramping creds, but because he loves it. That’s what a fire is for, right? The result is basic entrees and blackened cast iron fry pans. Using our universal pan, our Bananas Foster can taste more like Bananas Fishter, with hints of the catch of the day left from breakfast — a disappointing dessert but a great story!
These days most of our Gramping partners are foodies, great cooks and/or certified nutritionists. We have cut down on s’mores and spam. In 2006 our friend Robin Donovan sent a copy of her new book Campfire Cuisine: Gourmet Recipes for the Great Outdoors with the inscription: “Go wild, eat well.” We have worked to improve our menus.
For the milestone occasion, I proffered a range of predictable gifts: a Mediterranean cruise, a Rolex, a new car, maybe a luxury RV. His choice? “Let’s upgrade our camping gear!”
On the day of our family celebration of his birthday, he and I started out at REI, trying on new sleeping bags. I said I didn’t need a new one but he insisted we upgrade together. I was consulted on colors; I chose rust orange bags that went with our almost new tent. We were unaware that at that very moment, our daughter was at the nearby counter getting a generous gift certificate from the family so Grandpa Gramper could go wild upgrading.
After the birthday brunch of crab omelets prepared by our son-in-law, Grandpa Gramper had the family assemble in the garage as he retrieved the camping trunks, and pulled out all the vintage gear he was going to replace. He ceremoniously passed it all down to our adult grandchildren. Then he spent several hours surfing websites and ordering new stuff with abandon.
Soon the deliveries came: two black camp chairs (brand names “Bubba Chairs”), with backs high enough for neck support while reading, lounging, and drinking coffee, and contoured seats that don’t slouch so low that getting up requires mastering yet another yoga move. All are foldable to fit in the trunk of our Subaru sedan.
In addition, our new gear includes:
Now in 2021 as we emerge, fully vaccinated, from the numbing Covid quarantine — and after we finally get to have the postponed family reunion to celebrate our daughter’s 50th birthday — the next thing on our list is: Make reservations for summer camping!
We can’t wait!