Great reflections, as always! I need to go back and read your other posts about camping, but my first thought is that modern camping has created many more gradations of discomfort to choose from. Maybe that’s the same as stripping away the core discomfort and leaving only the surface, but I’m not sure of that.
My family camped often when I was growing up because it was a cheap vacation that got us outdoors, all things my immigrant dad liked. As we kids got a bit older, we started backpacking - once in the Grand Canyon, an arduous hike that requires you pack in your own water. When we were young adults, he organized our cousin cohort to go snow camping - but sent us into the snow with 3-season tents and sleeping bags. We still talk about THAT discomfort! Nothing like waking up throughout the night from the cold, and finally in the morning with one’s nose frozen to the tent fabric.
All of which is to say: I have some experience with “proper” camping discomfort, and it does make for moments of growth and memories to laugh about. But I think riding a bike around a car-and-RV campsite is a lovely thing too. As is sleeping in a tent nestled with the dog, in all the latest lightweight easy-to-assemble temperature- and comfort-regulating gear. For truer immersion into nature, there are always hike-in campsites with minimal facilities (usually less in demand, surprise surprise), camp-anywhere wilderness areas with no facilities at all, and so on. Some families are even thru-hiking iconic trails like the Pacific Crest or Appalachian, together with their kids, which boggles my mind. The gift of discomfort is absolutely still available.
About the wooden walkways: one of the ironies of camping or hiking in a world with more people, and more people who enjoy camping and hiking, is that parks start building things like wooden walkways to protect the *ecosystem* from all that human foot traffic. It has the effect you described - of putting that little bit of distance between us and the ground, smoothing the effort of walking the trail, a rather comfortable nature experience. But it’s interesting that that wasn’t the impetus for the design itself.
I think that's exactly right, and perhaps a distinction I didn't make clearly enough in the post. The gift of discomfort is absolutely still available. If anything, there are now more gradations to choose from than ever before. What interests me is that modern systems are increasingly designed to steer us toward the easier versions by default. The choice remains, but convenience is marketed and decision to go for the easy thing is immediate. I don't think this is unique to camping. It's true of exercise, travel, friendship, learning, parenting, even thinking. Discomfort is still available, but usually requires a deliberate decision to seek it out.
Also, your snow-camping story is exactly the sort of thing I mean. Probably nobody sitting in that tent thought "what a delightful experience." Yet it's still alive in family memory, because some experiences leave such a strong imprint-because they asked something of us. Always appreciate your insights!
Great reflections, as always! I need to go back and read your other posts about camping, but my first thought is that modern camping has created many more gradations of discomfort to choose from. Maybe that’s the same as stripping away the core discomfort and leaving only the surface, but I’m not sure of that.
My family camped often when I was growing up because it was a cheap vacation that got us outdoors, all things my immigrant dad liked. As we kids got a bit older, we started backpacking - once in the Grand Canyon, an arduous hike that requires you pack in your own water. When we were young adults, he organized our cousin cohort to go snow camping - but sent us into the snow with 3-season tents and sleeping bags. We still talk about THAT discomfort! Nothing like waking up throughout the night from the cold, and finally in the morning with one’s nose frozen to the tent fabric.
All of which is to say: I have some experience with “proper” camping discomfort, and it does make for moments of growth and memories to laugh about. But I think riding a bike around a car-and-RV campsite is a lovely thing too. As is sleeping in a tent nestled with the dog, in all the latest lightweight easy-to-assemble temperature- and comfort-regulating gear. For truer immersion into nature, there are always hike-in campsites with minimal facilities (usually less in demand, surprise surprise), camp-anywhere wilderness areas with no facilities at all, and so on. Some families are even thru-hiking iconic trails like the Pacific Crest or Appalachian, together with their kids, which boggles my mind. The gift of discomfort is absolutely still available.
About the wooden walkways: one of the ironies of camping or hiking in a world with more people, and more people who enjoy camping and hiking, is that parks start building things like wooden walkways to protect the *ecosystem* from all that human foot traffic. It has the effect you described - of putting that little bit of distance between us and the ground, smoothing the effort of walking the trail, a rather comfortable nature experience. But it’s interesting that that wasn’t the impetus for the design itself.
All things we like too!
I think that's exactly right, and perhaps a distinction I didn't make clearly enough in the post. The gift of discomfort is absolutely still available. If anything, there are now more gradations to choose from than ever before. What interests me is that modern systems are increasingly designed to steer us toward the easier versions by default. The choice remains, but convenience is marketed and decision to go for the easy thing is immediate. I don't think this is unique to camping. It's true of exercise, travel, friendship, learning, parenting, even thinking. Discomfort is still available, but usually requires a deliberate decision to seek it out.
Also, your snow-camping story is exactly the sort of thing I mean. Probably nobody sitting in that tent thought "what a delightful experience." Yet it's still alive in family memory, because some experiences leave such a strong imprint-because they asked something of us. Always appreciate your insights!