It’s no secret that I’ve referred to myself as “kind of an indoor girl” on more than one occasion. It’s not that I don’t like being outside. I actually love being outside and having the sun hit my shoulders and the wind in my hair. I just don’t feel any need to spend day after day in the woods “roughing it.”
Some of the prettiest places I’ve been to have had gorgeous landscape, and I wouldn’t trade those experiences for anything, but campfire and waking up with twigs stuck on my clothes doesn’t sound appealing at all.
I guess my aversion to this thing called camping started when I was in college and took a camping trip with my sorority sisters.
Our first mistake was the decision to go camping in early March…in the Tennessee woods…in tents. The whole time I was thinking…why in the world would anyone want to camp when it’s 40 degrees outside? That first question turned into many more…why sleep in a tent when you can get a cabin? Why pee outside when modern plumbing exists? Why cook meat over a fire? Is that even safe? How am I supposed to be clean out here?
So really, when anyone asks me if I want to go camping now (nearly 10 years after that horrible experience) I politely turn them down. But no matter how politely I reject the offer, I get the feeling that I’m being looked at as if I’m a prissy high maintenance brat who doesn’t want to get her hands dirty and spends her entire day trying on heels and putting on makeup.
But does not liking camping make me any less of an outdoors lover? Even though I may be ridiculed for preferring cabins to tents, I think not…because truthfully, I can’t think of anything more beautiful than being outside and catching a glimpse of one of these: