A Week of Camping
Each year many members of my church head out to Codorus state park for a few days of camping. Since I have always been able to get a bunch of writing done while I am camping, I tend to extend the trip by a few days and enjoy more time under the tarp and tent. This year I scheduled a week.
This is the same tarp that was flattened at the 2025 Flite Fest event in Malvern, OH. After having numerous grommets ripped out, I reinforced about half of themby folding some matching canvas over the old hole, sewing the canvas together, covering both sides with epoxy, and then drilling a hole to install a new grommet. My motivation for this compulsive repair is the result of past history.
Three years ago, at Codorus state park, my son, Tim, and I were camping out on the field. Same tent, different tarp – a 16 X 19 white vinyl tarp, heavy duty, purchased at Lowes. A storm front came through, and the leading edge had the same insane high winds that leveled the field at Flite Fest in 2025. The Codorus blast shredded the tarp, but did not knock down the tent. That tarp went into the dumpster, and I started ponderin’ how to get a nice new canvas tarp and have it ready for the following year. But the seeds of my fretting over high winds had been sown. The second experience at Flite Fest fanned my Gustaphobia into full debilitation.
As a result, this year I spent every moment on my phone either planning with Claude, or watching the weather. A storm was forecast came in for Thursday night predicting “severe winds and thunderstorms,” After my previous two destructive storm experiences, Claude and I discussed the possibility of setting up another tarp as a wind break, additional stakes and ropes, anything we could to save the camp site.
Allow me to dig deeper into the past. While I was in my thirties, I thought back and calculated that I had spent about three years of my life sleeping in a tent. I can assure you that there is little that I enjoy more than lying on my cot, in my tent, listening to the rain come down. Or, rain coming down as I cook under the tarp, or play games, or just watch the rain fall. But those idyllic scenes are quenched and squashed when a sixty mile per hour wind precedes the rain with a smashing blow. Claude, my phone, and the weather service forced me to the unpleasant conclusion that the best course of action was to break camp, furl the tarp, and go home for the night to skip the storm.
Sarah and I went home for Thursday night and returned Friday morning. The reports from all of our friends that stayed… not a drop of rain, nor a breath of wind.
Of course, there were tornadoes six miles away, and torrential rain at every point of the compass. Claude concluded that the safe decision was the sage decision.
Oh, I guess that I should resolve what I hinted at above – getting a lot of writing done. My daughter, Peggy, had her second child the week before this trip. She drove down each day to hang out at the campsite and enjoy being outside. I didn’t get one minute of writing done that week – but I had a great time with Peggy