Little Pine, the Place that {Almost} Redeemed Camping

After the mega camping fail of 2021 (read about that here), John wanted to take me to Little Pine State Park, a campground in the PA mountains that actually has trees and shade. Going to a beautiful location definitely held appeal. But still, I told John that I'm arming myself with the same mindset I had when entering our church's three-day fast: "This suffering will do good things for my soul." 

"You do know," John said, "that some people go camping because they actually enjoy it, right?" 

Right. But arming myself with the mindset that self-deprivation will be good for me felt like the prepared way to go.

Little Pine State Park is a beautiful campground, even to people who aren't naturally drawn to camping. Our tent was pitched on a carpet of pine needles within hearing distance of a small but dashing river. We were surrounded by the same trees John had camped beneath when he was a boy, adding a touch of nostalgia to the place. We didn't have electricity or cell phone coverage, but all of us agreed that only enhanced our weekend.

We grilled burgers over the fire for supper, toasted marshmallows for s'mores, and went to bed late. I felt rested when we unzipped the tent door in the morning. My immediate view was a green picnic area, towering pine trees, and the edges of a mountain. It was a gorgeous start to our day.

On previous camping trips, the children always had cousins with whom they could dodge off and play. But this time, our family unit stayed together, a super fun aspect of our weekend. We checked out the river and a lake. The views were breathtaking from the top of the dam. The hill leading to the dam was breathtaking too; someone is out of shape.

Tyler and John fished for the trout that swam tantalizingly around their feet. Tyler fished in knee-deep water long after his legs turned red from cold and the rest of us had lost interest. He tossed back everything he caught except a solitary 14" brown trout that we cooked over the fire and served with butter. 

While my men fished, I sat on a rock and watched my other children entertain themselves in a shallow creek. They had no manmade toys, but they were fully engaged for a couple of hours. They floated dandelions and sticks, built dams, stacked up rock towers, climbed rocks, played with a frog, and threw rocks into the creek. I watched them, amazed at the possibilities a child sees in rocks, sticks, and ankle-deep water.

Sophia used water and a stick to paint rocks.
Great idea because your canvases are endless
and your work area is mess-free.

On our way home, John asked what I thought of my Little Pine experience. I didn't know how to answer. In many ways, it was a wonderful weekend as a family. 

But the raw truth is that camping will always be camping with smoke in your eyes and biting bugs on your neck. Neighbors had moved in with a gigantic bloodhound whose indefatigable baying reverberated throughout the entire campground. They also brought a Lab that celebrated their arrival by leaping out of their grasp and peeing either on our camp chair leg or directly in front of it. Throughout the weekend, tiny worms fell from our canopy into my dishwater, dangled into our hair, and needed to be picked out of our food. On the way home while contemplating my answer to John's question, I was still finding worms on myself. You would think there would be easier ways of achieving family togetherness and quality time. 

But even with unregenerated dogs and the messiness of nature, I had more fun and fewer opportunities to remind my soul of its necessary and beneficial purification than I expected. And I loved spending time with my favorite people. 

My verdict? Don't sell the tent.

At least not yet.