Setting up base camp in the backyard wilderness at Limekiln Sharing with others is part of growing up, but sharing with a little brother can be difficult. There were only two weeks of school left before the summer of 1974 would commence, and for this eight year old boy, it could not come quick enough.
The evenings were getting longer and the days were warm well after dark.
In fact, it was so warm that I wanted to try out my father’s little orange pup tent with a backyard overnight bivouac.
The nylon tent was lightweight and pretty roomy for a fourth grader.
The portable home had enough room for almost any sort of overnight adventure—including a dog to keep me company.
I had no fear of the dark or the outdoors. With my keen sense of adventure intact, I laid out on my bed all the items needed for the overnight stay.
My 12-part Swiss army knife, two flashlights, one sleeping bag, a pillow, my tool box filled with prize possessions, and two books, The Deerslayer by James Fennimore Cooper and a book on how to tan hides.
Once my survival kit was ready I went outside to set up the tent. My father stored the camping gear in a lofted area of the garage.
I pulled the components of the shelter from the sack. It took me a bit of time to figure out the proper method of tent construction.
My dog Mutt was of considerable help at this point. She laid on a portion of the tent to keep it from blowing away in the wind as I tried to pound in the little yellow plastic stakes.
I only broke two of them with the five-pound hand sledge I used to plant them firmly in the ground.
It was not long before Mutt and I were inside and beaming proudly over our skills in woods craft survival.
Suddently I noticed a sharp smell, like a burning rubber or plastic mixed with bug spray and stale mold.
It’s the exact smell of every tent I have since owned or slept in, which I now refer to as Murky Nylon Habitation.
Mutt didn’t seem to mind so I tried not to let her know that I thought the tent smelled funny. I started to fill the tent with items that would make our one night in the wild semi-comfortable.
I went inside to fill my army canteen from the kitchen faucet and snagged a few Oreos on the way out for a late night snack.
I was thinking about all the obstacles that might arise throughout the night, such as visits by bears, rain, bathroom breaks, or other natural disasters.
But the one challenge I had not counted on was the arrival of my little brother at the entry flap of my new home at the rural backyard campsite.
Even Mutt seemed to understand that the addition of a little brother to our tent was going to ruin our whole experience.
Not to mention the fact that he had my flashlight in his mouth and was drooling all over my pillow.
It was not long before my mother came to the rescue and ushered my brother back inside so Mutt and I could begin our wilderness experience.
Unfortunately our adventure came to an abrupt ending about 11 p.m. when we heard a loud noise coming from the woods.
We decided it would be best to go inside so we would not draw rabid animals close to the house.
We were pretty conscientious, and both expert pup-tenters.
