One of my dreams is to own and operate a campground. I would love to live surrounded by fresh air and woodland creatures, constantly having hair that smells like campfire, and eating s’mores daily. I am so happy when I am in the great outdoors (or for that matter, watching the 1988 comedy The Great Outdoors). I also dream of operating a paddle-up bar on the river where canoes and kayaks can order a cold beer without having to get out of their boats.
It is so fun watching our dog run around free while we are camping. She can dig holes, chase leaves, and pee whenever she wants. To me, the thought of only being able to use a bathroom when someone is around to ‘let me out’ sounds like a living hell, so I relish giving her this freedom as often as possible. I can also sympathize; the elation she feels while running wild and free is similar to the peace I find away from my cubicle and the screen that I stare at for 40 hours a week.
This year, with my birthday falling on a Saturday I decided to plan a camping trip instead of a party. I am looking forward to turning 34 while sitting in a canvas chair, feet propped up on a log, sitting near a campfire along with my friends with a New Glarus beer in my hand. Because let’s be honest, when it comes down to it, camping really just means drinking outside.