Summer Camp

For years I have been trying to convince my husband that I would like to go camping. I'm not sure I really believe myself but I think I'd like to try it. Done. We're camping. We've rented this little cottage, only one block to the beach, three houses from the children's park, and a short bike ride into the town. Perfect. But they forgot to put screens in the windows, big oops. And there are no fans, none, so the wonderful close to the lake air doesn't move, it just sits like a big humid poof in the sparsley furnished living room. There are no blinds, or curtains, or any window coverings of any kind, save the one used to drape the big ugly chair (we've yet to peek underneath). The cottage faces south, the girls room east so Mary wakes up every morning with the Michigan sun, about 6am, or 5am on our side of the lake. The fully stocked kitchen includes some plastic handled silverware, a few paper napkins, a cookie sheet and bugs. I had hoped to do some cooking, the summer bounty kind, taking full advantage of all the amazing things I find at the local farmer's market. I took a picture of us at dinner tonight, it stormed so we were inside at the table in the kitchen. We're eating on paper plates with plastic forks (which horrifies me), there is a ketchup bottle and a mustard bottle on the table. The girls have milk in red plastic cups and we are drinking Coronas in the bottle. Our serving platter is one of those aluminum pans you buy at the grocery store, presumably to take a sheet cake to the grade school bake sale. The whole look is hideous. But the meal wonderful, two very happy children, just in from splashing like mad in the blow up pool in the backyard,

a dripping wet husband who stood in the rain over the beaten up Weber grill and four ears of perfectly roasted Michigan corn. Camping is out but this little buggy cottage is in, as long as the bug covered family is included.