I love exploring the outdoors, but my idea of roughing it has changed over the years.  Hiking into a wilderness area with my every creature comfort strapped to my back suited me for many years,.  But not now. Longer getaways are more difficult to arrange, so we weekend camp.  A lake here.  A river there.  A hill somewhere.  We’re not tracking Bigfoot, we just want to poke a fire and toss the frisbee.

However, our plans for relaxation are often accompanied by the worst weather possible.  Once we watched a squall move across the vast lake and park over our campsite like something from the Truman Show.  While we rode it out and stayed dry, the winds were so fierce, we could have easily been rendered lake flotsam.  During another outing, a wind storm boiled up, sending dust clouds upon us that rivaled Oklahoma in ’32.  We spent much of that time in hiding.  And yet another time, we stayed at a gorgeous spot right on the lake.  Trouble was it was cold, bitter cold, with wind descending from the Arctic regions that cut through every seam.  We huddled close together and pretended we were having fun.

So we decided to try again this past weekend.  The difference being we checked the weather report at regular intervals for the two preceding weeks with the contingency:  we only go if it’s nice.  Highs in the 70s.  Good.  Lows in the 50s.  Also good.  Sunny.  Mmmm.  The winds were at our backs for a change.

And it was a glorious weekend.  We rode bikes.  Hiked.  Frisbeed.  But sometime Saturday evening our dog developed a cough that sounded like the loser in a hog calling contest.  We felt sorry for her, but listening to that all night at close range wasn’t an option.

Our doggie is fine now.  The spring weather is stunning.  We’ll camp again someday.

Maybe.

Maybe indoors this time.