I often consider myself to be an outdoorsy person, but then I meet a real outdoorsy person, likely clad head to toe in REI gear, and remember I'm not of that caliber. I'm outdoorsy in the same way I am a foodie, I like both, very much. For me, camping falls in the same category as going to the beach, it sounds fun in theory, but then once I've arrived I spend more time anticipating when I can go home than enjoying the experience. I think this says more about the level of comfort I seek than my dislike of either activity, but something continually tricks me into wanting to experience it all again. Growing up hearing stories of camping, summer's on the lake and friends heading 'up north' for the weekend, I think I've always been envious and curious, wanting to experience it all for myself. Now that I have someone to drag along on my adventures I was sure not to miss the chance to subject myself to a night of terrible sleep on the hard ground of Wisconsin forest. A few months before we had even left for the US I booked an overnight at Wyalusing State Park and was rather proud of myself for securing one of the last camp sites overlooking the ridge two the two rivers below.
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Selfishly, we spent a few days traveling in the West before making the grand return home to Wisconsin, but I did owe it to my boyfriend to show him more than just the land of cheese and beer. When I told my parents our arrival date my dad's response was, "oh great, we're building a playset the next day, 8am start." Not quite the welcome I was expecting, but I was also excited we had plans and were going to be immediately wrapped up in home life. We had been busy in Washington, trying to fit in sightseeing while still extremely jet-lagged, so I was looking forward to down time, although there really was not all that much.
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