Campers

There are at least 5 different kinds of campers at a place like South Beach State Park, where we spent the last two nights.

A) The college kids. They pull in and unpack more humans and gear than can logically fit in that old car, then set up the tent and yell pleasantly at each other and play music and try to plug in game things at the outlet at the edge of the campsite and are disappointed to find that the cord, even with an extension cord, doesn't even reach past the car and for sure not to the picnic table.

B) The Fit People. They stay in tents, too. They have kayaks on top of their nice cars, and bike around the campground on nice bikes and wear nice helmets and always wear sunglasses like Lance Armstrong's. And of course they all look like long-distance runners.

C) The Matching Couples. Motorhomes all the way with these people. They put a pretty plaid tablecloth on the picnic table and clamp it down with handy little gadgets and maybe put a matching pinwheel at the end as a pretty touch. They park their matching bikes and matching helmets by the back end of the motorhome and set their matching camp chairs, folded up nicely, against the side of the motorhome. They brush bits of dust off their nice jackets and look like they would like to vacuum up all those wood chips all over the campsite.

D) The Hippies. They drive old vans and set up well-used tents and sit on picnic tables and contentedly play the ukelele, even if they are 6-feet-three and in their thirties.

E) Families like us. They holler about the best way to build a fire and set up their camp chairs all around the fire pit and holler when the smoke goes their way. Their camp chairs look like a mishmash of garage sale finds and gifts from the school board at the end of school. They festoon the tree branches with wet towels and jeans and skirts. They keep the critters fed because when the teenagers are sitting up late around the campfire and a raccoon comes by and takes off with a Hershey bar, they think this is cool and so they don't put the s'mores ingredients in the cooler for the night, or else it doesn't occur to them to do so, and this is the story they tell their mom in the morning when she is up at 6:30 wrapped in a blanket and talking to a daughter on the east coast and suddenly she sees a squirrel right by her chair dragging a bag of graham crackers in his mouth. They play Scum late at night in the tent trailer and holler loud enough that the mom is sure the camp security is going to come by and shush them up. They go down to the beach and haul back the biggest driftwood logs they can carry, which they use to build more fires. They leap down the dunes and get sandy from head to toe. When they go back to the campsite they park sandy size-13 shoes inside the tent trailer in the narrow space where everyone walks. They try to see who can eat the most quarter-pound hot dogs in one evening. Winner: four. They spend hours on the beach and absorb the amazing sunshine and walk for miles and watch the kite-surfers bobbing in the breeze and have the best time of anyone.

Quote of the Day:
"Do trees eat their peas?" "How is the jetty like candy?" "How is the beach like a dog?" "How are the jetties like a baseball glove?"
--intriguing questions painted on the sidewalk as you walk the quarter mile from the campground to the beach. The answers are on a sign at the end. (Yes, beach peas put nutrients in the soil that the trees use. The jetty is a life-saver. They both have fleas. They both catch things.)