Here is the story of how I know all these camping stories.
Chapter 10 -
The Camping Log
I
imagine that by now, you are completely amazed by my incredible memory. Sure,
I've mentioned the home movies recording our every early trip. And many of our
adventures have been shared at every family get-together.
But at this point, I should give credit to
my most faithful source. The Camping Log. It is a bound grey composition book,
with the name "C. Gudgeon" dimly penned in the upper right-hand
corner of the cover. I have always guessed that C. Gudgeon purchased the book,
and when he found it unnecessary, Dad snapped it up, hating to see anything go
to waste. Or perhaps Dad bought it at the second-hand store for a nickel. I
never asked him.
Within these six-inch-by-six-inch pages,
Dad and sometimes Mom recorded the names of the campgrounds where we stayed,
the dates, the prices, and sometimes comments on the campgrounds. Their
descriptions were very detailed, usually something like "Noisy" or
"Crowded".
Prices ranged from free at some roadside
and city parks to $4.00 a night at the ultra-modern KOAs (Kampgrounds of
America, the ones with the big A-frame offices). Some of those KOAs even had
inground, cement swimming pools, but we never did much more than dangle our
feet in them, if that. Mom was sure we would drown if we went in up past our
knees.
In the mid-1970s, I took over most of the
recording duties, putting in columns to write the date, mileage, city,
campground, cost, and comments. Since we went both east and west several times,
we occasionally stayed at the same campground.
One such place is Peaceful Valley
Campground in LeSueur, Minnesota. We camped there on June 11, 1969, and again
on June 20, 1971. (That's where the picture above was taken.) The campground is still in operation, and from the images on its
website, it looks much the same. I've driven by it frequently after those years
of camping with Mom and Dad because of Phyllis, who lives in the area.
Phyllis was Pat's good friend from
college. We shared dating horror stories after I divorced and Phyllis was not
yet married. I quickly became her good friend, also. When she finally did
marry, it was to a man who owned a farm in LeSueur, Minnesota.
Then there was Powell State Park (aka
Sandy Beach). This park was located forty or fifty miles north of where we
lived, and anytime we were just out for a ride or on our way home from a trip,
Dad would manage to pull through to check it out. We never stayed there when I
was with. It wasn't until Pat and I were out of the house that Mom and Dad
camped there on a few weekend getaways.
Another place we often visited was the Big
Eau Plaine in Mosinee, Wisconsin. We frequently met Mom's cousin Doris and her
husband Richard there since they lived around Green Lake, and Mosinee was half
in between.
It was a nice enough county park, but the
ride there always struck fear into my heart. The road crossed the Eau Plaine
River over a long one-lane bridge. I was always afraid another vehicle would
start across coming towards us as we were crossing and that they would run us
off the bridge and into the river.
Not only was it one lane for automobile
traffic, but the bridge also was shared by a railroad track. The biggest fear
of my entire life was that halfway across the bridge, a train would start over
from the opposite direction. I don't know why I was so terrified. The train
would be on its track and not in our traffic lane, but I was certain the bridge
would collapse from the weight of both our camper and the train. Or, again,
somehow run us off the bridge and into the water. I think I was genuinely terrified
of drowning as a child.
Besides camping at the Eau Plaine
campground, we often crossed the bridge to go to King's Campers on the other
side. Even though Dad was pleased with our pickup camper, he started to become
fascinated with fifth-wheel trailers, and every chance he got, he would stop at
a camper dealer to look at them. We thought walking through each larger and
fancier RV was always fun, too, sitting on the sofa and imagining we lived
there.
Of course, it didn't take much for my
sister and me to think that something was fun.
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