The camping bug has bitten me hard these past few days. It all started with a news article on a homeless tent city, and I am rearing to go. Luckily, my family owns about 200 acres of timberland in God's country. I am headed out tonight to pitch my tent and revel in the waning sunlight.
The hard part? Mentally, I associate camping with drinking. My past camping trips always involved a case of beer or a fifth of Southern Comfort. I will have to be careful and not get drawn back into those old habits.
My ex-wife once wanted to go camping with me. She wanted to "make love under the stars." She wasn't out there for two hours until the deer, mosquitos, and the boredom chased her home, dragging me with her.