To celebrate your graduation from your first year of barnehage - OMG! - I took you for your first overnight experience in the woods. I picked you up during lunch, where you were sitting happily with your friends, all covered in chocolate cake, then we said our goodbyes to your teachers and drove an hour or so down past Mommy's work to the mountains of Skrim, at an elevation of about 2000 feet (cirka 600 moh).
We parked the car and you started intrepidly down the path with your 'tutt' hanging on its string and clutching Dog tightly to your chest - our little girl in the big woods, a sight I will never forget. You managed about half a mile all by yourself but then somehow ended up on my shoulders even though I was carrying our big backpack, and there you stayed for much of the trip!
I chose to keep walking when we reached the DNT cabin because there were too many people there - I wanted us to be all alone in nature - so we made our way for another mile and a half through moose country (as Uncle Brett calls it) with its trademark patches of swamp to navigate or sink into, and I managed to keep my footing despite wearing sandals and having you on my shoulders.
I soon became aware of the fact that this trip was going to be a bit more challenging than I had thought: while I trust in my knowledge of the outdoors and my ability to take care of your needs, I hadn't realized how important it would be for you to understand that a different set of rules applies when we are out in the woods. Because you talk and understand as much as most four-year-olds, it's easy for us to forget how young you really are, but the importance of you understanding this difference became imperative when we had to make the important decisions of where to set up camp, get water, cook, etc. Easy tasks when at home, but potentially dangerous in the woods if one does not plan, evaluate and execute properly and efficiently.
Example A was when we had to set up our tent: Daddy chose an idyllic spot on a small bluff overlooking a small lake, but it was in thick woods, so as soon as I put you and the backpack down, we were swarmed by horse flies. Seconds later we discovered that the ground was crawling with various species of large ants that were both curious and unafraid - they immediately climbed all over us and called for reinforcements. Fortunately they didn't bite right away, and as you have no reason to fear them yet (nor the horse flies) you were fascinated, but I didn't want to give you a reason to be afraid by letting you find our the hard way. So Daddy panicked for a split second, wondering if we should go back to the cabin, but I went with my gut feeling, set up the tent as quickly as possible and got you in it before you got stung or bitten.
Whew. OK. Calm down. First crisis averted. Now smile. Now eat apple. There - much better!
After relaxing in the tent for a bit, we walked the ten meters down to the lake to go swimming. It was a bit too cold for you, but I jumped in and then found a nice rock where we could both sit and you could splash your feet in the water. We sat like this for at least a half an hour, you on my lap, skin soaking up the skin, ears attuned to the lapping of the water, the singing birds and the buzzing insects. Daddy-daughter bonding, just what we wanted! You are perfectly at ease in nature - relaxed, happy, observant, curious - and I hope that you will find as much joy in being outdoors as I have.
By now it was time to start thinking about dinner, but this is where my somewhat impulsive decision to camp farther away from the cabin (our safe water source) became much more of a challenge than it would have been if I were alone. We now had to walk a mile or so back to the cabin to get water to dinner and breakfast, and the first half of this little jaunt went without a hitch, but when I set you down on the path after we had passed the swampy parts, you sat down on the trail and said, 'Sunniva har bæsja.' While it is not uncommon for you to say that you have pooped when you actually haven't, this time you actually had.
Great. Good job, Daddy. Great. Why didn't you get water when we passed the cabin? Can I carry her to the water source and back before changing her diaper? What if it's just a little bit of poop - (takes a look) - OK, no way, now we have to go back through the swamp to camp. Great job, Dad. Great.
And now the second major crisis of our trip was upon us. I didn't want to change your diaper in the tent (something I've never done before) and I stupidly assumed that the horse flies wouldn't swarm us again if I were just able to change you quickly. Idiot. Not only did I bump your head on a rock, causing you to scream and cry throughout the changing, but we were swarmed by those damn horse flies again and Daddy was cursing and swatting them off of you while trying not to hit the shit, or spread it around any more. I only just managed to get you clean, and the dirty diaper sealed in a bag, without starting to scream and cry as much as you were, and then I grabbed you and jumped into the tent where we had to lie down and hold each other for a few minutes to regain our composure.
Phew. OK. We survived. She's OK. You're OK. But now it's late, and we still don't have water for dinner. Can we go without eating?
At this point, I figured the worst must be over, and it wouldn't do to get beaten by horse flies on your very first camping trip, so we mustered our courage, saddled up again (you on my shoulders) and went back through the swamp to get our water. Back at camp, the water took forever to boil - stupid camping stoves - but at last the macaroni was ready and we threw the cheese in to watch it melt. After dinner we tried our hand at some fishing, which you seemed to enjoy, but all we caught were weeds.
To my surprise, bedtime turned out to be a non-issue, probably because you were so exhausted. I lay down next to you, we talked a bit, sang a bit, and before long you fell asleep in your favorite position - tucked tightly into my chest, arm around my neck, head on top of mine, crushing my nose, cheek to cheek, eyelids closing for longer and longer as your breathing slowed to a gentle whisper. And believe it or not you slept for ten hours straight! I tried to go fishing after you feel asleep but there were way too many no see'ums, so I went to sleep beside you and we both woke up to the sound of the birds and the wind in the trees.
In the morning, I chose not to boil water for oatmeal, but instead to get you out of the woods ASAP so that we could call this trip a success - the best part about camping is always coming home, isn't it?
Although I discovered that you had indeed suffered a horse-fly bite during our diaper nightmare, our morning walk back to civilization was lovely, and stress-free. We sang, danced, communed with trees, learned about their leaves and needles and bark, saw a frog in the swamp, and with the last eight percent of my iPhone, took as many silly Daddy-daughter selfies as we could.
