CAMPIN’ MEMORIES

April 29, 2026

by Rusty W. Mitchum

You know, I was thinkin’ the other day, I sure am glad I was born a boy. I don’t think I could have made it as a girl. I’m too ugly, too hairy, well except for my head, and I don’t look that good in a mini-skirt. I mean, I don’t think I’d look good in a mini-skirt. Not that I’ve ever had one on, well, maybe once, on a dare, but that was all, honest. Uh, anywho, let’s get back to the story.

The reason I said that I am glad that I was born a boy is that as a boy, I got to do a lot of things that I don’t think too many girls did. Oh, there were a few tomboys I knew, but we didn’t hang around with them that much, ‘cause they were better at doin’ boy stuff than we were. It was an ego thing.

Back then, my buddies and I were like gypsies. We roamed all over the place. Unlike gypsies, we were back home every night, ‘cause our Mommas would have killed us if we weren’t. The only time we got to stay out all night was when we were campin’. Ahhhh campin’. I think that’s the thing I miss the most about not bein’ a kid anymore.

Now, our campin' was not spur of the moment, grab everything lightweight and stuff it into a backpack campin’ that these fellows do now-a-days. Oh no. Our campin’ was quite an ordeal. It was more on the scale of an African safari. First off, our tent, or I should say, my cousin Coy’s tent, was more like a house. It was made out of canvas. That’s right canvas. Not this sissy material they make tents out of now-a-days. And that canvas was thick too. Oh yeah, and heavy. The tent determined where we would be sittin’ up camp. You see, it took all of us kids, my cousin Coy, Greg Hunt, Little Rusty, his little brother Wee Whoa, and all of our dogs, to drag this tent to our campin’ spot. When we couldn’t drag it anymore, that was where we camped. Most of the time, we didn’t get much further than Coy’s back yard.

After restin’ up from draggin’ the tent, we set it up; another ordeal. First, we would stake down the floor of the tent. Then we shoved Wee Whoa into it to make sure there weren’t any scorpions, spiders, or wasps in there. This was Wee Whoa’s job. Not that he had any choice in the matter. He had to do these kinds of things for the privilege of hangin’ out with us. Let me stop here and explain somethin’. Wee Whoa, was Little Rusty’s brother. Little Rusty was called that to distinguish him from me, who was older and bigger. Wee Whoa’s real name was Randy Joe, but when he was a baby, he tried to say his name and it came out Wee Whoa, and the name stuck.

Anywho, after Wee Whoa had determined the coast was clear; we all grabbed a pole and wiggled into the openin’, in an attempt to prop up the roof. If you’ve never climbed into a collapsed canvas tent to set it up, then you haven’t lived. It was dark, it stunk, and it was unbearably hot. It was wonderful. Finally, after a bunch of grunts and groans, the tent would be takin’ shape. A few of the poles were adjustable for height, but we weren’t strong enough to push them up to their full potential, so the roof sagged. That wasn’t that much of a big deal. We weren’t that tall back then anyway.

Next came havin’ to supply the tent. We all headed back to our houses to get what we would need to survive the night. You know, it’s amazin’ how much stuff a kid needs out on a campout. First, you need a good sleepin’ bag. Not that you will be usin’ it for sleepin’ or anything. Heck, I don’t ever remember sleepin’ on a campout, back then. The sleepin’ bag was used to stuff in all the stuff you needed. Let’s see, you needed a huntin’ knife that would never be unsheathed. You needed a deck of cards, a kerosene lantern, matches, a canteen, rope, a shovel, a hatchet, a BB gun, a tube of BB’s, and bubble gum. I think that’s about it. Like I said, it takes a lot of stuff to survive.

Then you’d stuff all that into your sleepin’ bag…well…all except the kerosene lantern. Then you’d drag it to the campsite. I’ll bet from an airplane we looked like a bunch of giant caterpillars headin’ for our nest.

After gettin’ all our stuff into the tent, it was time to go wanderin’. We’d go over to Mr. Dozier’s dump, behind his house, where he burned his trash. We’d dig out bottles and cans, and shoot ‘em with our BB guns. Then we’d hike down to Cope’s Country Store, which was about a mile away. There we’d trade Coke bottles we had found along the road side for candy or maybe some more BB’s. Sometimes we’d have enough for a Coke, and we’d open it, and take a swig and pass it around. Wee Whoa got the last drink ‘cause we figured by the time it got around once, it was half slobber anyway. Wee Whoa did say it came out kind of thick.

Finally, we’d head back to our camp for supper. Supper usually consisted of weenies. We weren’t allowed to have a fire, so we just ate ‘em raw. Hey, don’t laugh. They ain’t half bad. After supper, we’d light up the lantern, hang it from one of the poles in the tent, and break out the cards. It was poker time. Every once in a while, somebody would have some grapevine, and we could have an after supper smoke. We’d sit around in a circle, Indian cross legged, with those little burnin’ sticks in our mouths playin’ poker. Well, all of us but Wee Whoa. He was too young to smoke. If you’ve never smoked grapevine, well you really haven’t missed too much. The smoke is hotter than blue blazes, and there is some kind of liquid that seeps out while you’re suckin’ on it that’s so bitter, you have to scrape it off of your tongue with your teeth. But we thought we were cool. Of course, the smoke stung your eyes so bad that you couldn’t see your cards very well, so cheatin’ ran rampant. The winner was the one who cheated the best. I can remember several times when one person would have four aces, another would have four kings, another would have four queens, and one would have a royal flush. Oh yeah, Wee Whoa didn’t get to play. He was too young to play cards.

Finally, we’d get tired of cards and we’d go roamin’ again. This was my favorite thing to do on our campouts. Walkin’ and talkin’. Man, you just can’t beat it. Most of the time, this roaming was just walkin’ up and down the oil topped road, discussin’ important things, like dogs, huntin’, things that happened at school, and what we wanted to do when we grew up. Oh yeah, and sometimes we talked about girls. Of course, we made Wee Whoa walk back way behind us when we had girl discussions. After all, he was too young, heh, heh.