We went camping at our favorite North Alabama tiny, unknown campground: Buck’s Pocket.
We went for the endless views,
The time with family,
(and accompanying marshmallows,)
and so that our kids could get a hot breakfast.
Because they only get that when Gramamma is around.
And especially, to get away from it all.
To be in a canyon where cell phones don’t work,
where football can’t be watched,
and where computers don’t exist.
Because there’s just nothing like seeing your kids run and play and enjoy the outdoors like they should.
(I swear – my computer stayed in it’s case in the car the whole time. The rest of my family were nature heathens. Not me.)
(But I did have wi-fi on my iPhone.)
The kids love camping because they get to play with their cousins (like this rousing game of “mean police keeping the bad guys off the slide,”)
get smoked by their much younger cousin’s bravery,
(but never dare change their cautious ways,)
to go on Gramamma’s fabulous treasure hunts,
and to ponder deeply the meaning of life.
…or at least the meaning of why they can’t go camping every day.
My one true reason for going camping – ever – is for the photo ops.
Sure, I enjoy the outdoors…the crisp air…the life slowdown. But the photos. They’re the best.
I don’t know the answers as to why, but my kids are so much cuter in the wild.
Maybe it’s because they have more room to make messes and be loud and run recklessly without destroying my house.
Maybe it’s the nostalgia created by the vintage playground equipment that I myself played on years ago.
Maybe it’s the fresh air and it’s effect on their hair and complexion,
But whatever the reason, every camping trip, I come away with my new favorite photo of each kid.
Ali, October 2011:
Ali, June 2012:
Ali, October 2012:
Noah, October 2011:
Noah, June 2012:
Noah, October 2012:
So if you can’t think of any other reason you’d want to smell like burnt wood for days and obsessively and repeatedly check your kid’s every freckle to make sure none morphed into ticks, I assure you: the photos are worth it.