The dry run

This past Saturday was a rare, sunny day in March. We hustled around the yard completing as many post-winter chores as we could. As the day’s end drew nearer, my husband decided it was a good night to camp.

We dusted off the camp gear, threw it into the rig, and headed over to a campsite fairly close to our house. We do this every year, and we call it our “dry run”. It’s a dry run, because we’re so close to home that we can always go back to get something we’ve forgotten.

The dry run allows us to test our gear before camping season goes into full effect. We look for holes in the tent that need patching. Utensils in the cooking arsenal that need replacing. Stuff like that. I keep a running log of all the “do this differently next time” and “don’t forget to…” that come up during the dry run.

Let me note here, if you read my blog post yesterday, Sunday, prep day, you might be thinking I’ve got OCD or something. I promise you I do not. My late-in-life organizational tendencies are not inherent in my personality. I’ve just learned over time, preparing in advance is actually a lot less stressful on me. I got tired of running around like a chicken with its head cut off, all of the time. Now I only do that every so often.

Okay, back to Saturday. After loading up our rig, my oldest and I hopped onto our bikes and rode down to the campsite.

Sand bank in river

The trail took us over bumpy, gravel paths along one river, and across to another. We passed by an open marsh filled with small ponds.

Small bridge over pond

The hum of the wetlands was constant and steady. Frogs croaking. Geese honking.


We arrived at the campsite before everyone else. I’m still not sure how that happened. Either way, it gave us time to explore and take photos.

The view looking west from the footbridge.

Bicyclist crossing foot bridge over river

The view looking south from the footbridge.

View of bridge from center of river

The view looking east from the foot bridge.

Looking back across footbridge

We roasted hot dogs and marshmallows around the fire that night. Then snuggled together in our sleeping bags, as the temperature dropped down to 38 degrees Fahrenheit. The skies were clear and open. While counting stars, we fell asleep to the sound of chatty frogs. We awoke to the sound of three Canadian geese chewing out a mallard duck that had invaded their air space.

Yep, another successful dry run under our belts. I think we’re ready for camping season.


2 thoughts on “The dry run

  1. Well, let me make the pictures even more real. If you think your neighborhood is noisy, close your eyes and listen to the sound of hundreds of frogs croaking and tens of ducks and geese quacking and honking. Add the rush of the river water, and you’ve got yourself a whole different kind of “noisy”. 😉

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