It was an adventure in and of itself since it was the first time I had ever gone camping without my husband or some other experienced adult campers. Having to be responsible for everything and keeping children safe and fed at the same time was no small weight on my shoulders, but I was up to the challenge looking forward to spending time outdoors. We arrived in the early afternoon and immediately got to setting up the tents. The girls, 15 and 16, were amazing. They set up our family tent without my help and then set up my two-man hiking tent. We had what tasted like gourmet sandwiches for lunch made from ciabata rolls, turkey, Tillamook cheddar cheese, lettuce and tomato.
But a couple hours later when I tried to start a fire for dinner, I couldn't find the BBQ lighter my husband said he'd packed, none of the matches I'd brought would strike (they were probably at least three years old), and I didn't know how to use the commercial campfire starter that we had in our camp gear. We had packed the truck bed 1/3 full of wood, but we didn't really have any kindling per se, charcoal or lighter fluid. I was beginning to feel a little dumb in addition to frustrated. Now I had grown up camping, was in Girl Scouts, camped in Africa and as a family since meeting my husband. But I had never been responsible for the fire! I know how to build one . . . in theory. To top it off, I didn't have cell service in the campground and couldn't call my husband.
After trying to start a fire with a BBQ lighter I borrowed from the camp host and crumpling up pieces of yellow legal paper beneath my wood without success, I did what every other 20th century girl would do. I went to town! I left Pongo to guard the girls and drove the thirty minutes into Chehalis. I found a Walmart and bought 2 bags of charcoal, 2 BBQ lighters and 2 cigarette lighters just to cover my bases. But when I got back to our camp an hour and twenty minutes later, I found the charcoal was not the easy-light kind and I had not bought lighter fluid. Oh, the joy of camping!!
The charcoal wouldn't light. I bent over the fire pit, being careful to keep my hair back and began to blow the delicate embers of legal paper. Blow . . . not too hard! Gentle . . . blow. . . steady . . . smoke swirled into my eyes. I was about to swallow my pride and walk to the the campers next to us (who'd had a fire going since 2 in the afternoon) for help when suddenly, I had flames! The stress of the afternoon began to melt away. We roasted hot dogs on sticks and heated a can of beans, then made the most amazing s'mores I've ever had in my life.
When it got dark around 9:30, I crawled into my tiny tent with Pongo curled up against my legs. The girls stayed up late playing card games in their large tent with a lantern. I woke up every few hours. I'm getting too old to sleep on the ground without an air mattress, I thought. The next morning couldn't come soon enough.
At daylight, Pongo and I emerged and went for a short walk to the bathrooms. I put together a single propane burner and heated water for coffee. When the girls awoke, I made omelets and fried potatoes. We weren't doing so badly on our own! We lauged about our early travails. But by the time breakfast was cooked and the dishes washed, it seemed it was almost time to start the next meal. I thought about how women little more than a century ago cooked on a fire every day. How did they control the temperature? How long did they know how to cook things? My own ancestors had crossed the U.S. as pioneers in the mid-1800s - this was what women did every day! The thought made me tired and grateful I was born in a century with electric stoves, washers and dryers.
There were signs all over the campground that said "No Fireworks" but on our second night the popping began at dusk. Pongo began to shake. I'd brought him dog treats and things to chew on (a braided bully stick and a dried cow trachea) but he wouldn't be comforted and nosed them away. I found that by walking away from the campground, keeping him by my side and moving, he calmed a little. He walked with his nose at my leg in a perfect heal that with years of practice and obedience classes I could never get him to do!
But when we got back to camp and I sat down, as soon as another firework popped, Pongo would tremble, whine and bark. Up again I would go, bringing him to my side, walking circles around the campground or across the open park field. I felt like a mother pacing with an incosolable baby at night. There was nothing I could do but keep moving, keep walking him. The fireworks were not coming from inside the camp borders. In choosing where we would camp for the Independence holiday, we forgot about how close the community was. There were several houses just outside the camp gates. It didn't matter that they were illegal on the campground, because fireworks were being set off a quarter mile away, legal in the area of Chehalis.
When it was dark, I tried to get Pongo to settle in the tent, but he kept trying to get out. Finally, I gave up and put him in the truck. There, the fireworks weren't as loud, though still audible. Pongo curled up in the driver's seat, panting for hours. I tried to get comfortable in the back seat with a sleeping bag, but being six feet tall, it was impossible. I turned over, scooted up and down, curled up, stretched my legs across into the front, but my neck and back hurt no matter which way I turned. I drifted in and out of sleep, Pongo jumping between the front and the back seat when a new set of pops went off.
I was never more thankful for daylight. I hoped my husband would surprise me at first light, but when he didn't show at 7 am, I stopped waiting, built a fire and started coffee. I had never been happier when he appeared around nine o'clock. He promptly put lots more wood on the fire and I was happy to let him take over. I was exhausted.
While I napped in the girls' tent, Del took them down to the Chehalis river on the edge of camp. They floated in innertubes, enjoying the cool lazy water that was shallow enough to stand up in.
The fun had begun! We played Yatzhee in the afternoon, made hamburgers on the fire for dinner. It was shaded and cool in the forested campground, but warm under the open blue sky.
Fireworks that had been sporadic throughout the afternoon escalated as the night of July 4th wore on. I continued to try and keep Pongo busy by walking him, but he began to refuse to walk on the camp road in the direction the fireworks were coming from.
After spending a second agonizing night in the truck, we decided to go home a day early. Being outdoors with fireworks was too hard on Pongo. Once at home, we have still had to deal with the fireworks in our neighborhood. At home, Pongo and I sequester ourselves in the master bedroom where I have tried my best to sound proof it for him - closing a blackout curtain over the window, I turn on the ceiling fan, the bathroom fan and the radio. But he won't stay in there alone. I have to be right beside him. As July wears on, so do the fireworks in Western Washington.
So I have yet to find the perfect solution for surviving July with Pongo. Refer to Fireworks Phobia, July 4, 2013 here for other things we've tried. http://rescuingpongo.blogspot.com/2013/07/fireworks-phobia.html
Next year, I think we'll just go to a hotel for a week. Any other travel ideas to places where fireworks are illegal and enforced or laws are respected?
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