Camping :: Gerstle Cove

So, let's start this off with a disclaimer that I'm not really much of a camper.  There.  I said it.  Actually, it's no secret.  Our family didn't really tent camp during my formative years.  They got a motor home when I was in high school and, of course, I was way too cool to spend my weekends with them in the sand dunes known as Glammis.  I think I missed out on a lot of fun with this camping business and I'm glad we joined our friends this week to rough it for a few days.

Steve purchased us a beautiful knew Coleman stove and prepped a big pot of Hecht chili the night before our departure.  I shopped for simple food and pre-cut & bagged most of our necessities.  We packed the car to the gills with tents, bikes, ice chests & golf clubs (see I told you we were roughing it!) and meandered up the coast to Gerstle Cove about 40 miles north of us.

Grady slept in his very own tent right next to ours (which he put up with his father's help).  He whittled marshmallow sticks for us and did a fair amount of bike riding with his dad.  We hiked, read books and ate really, really well.  One minor injury incurred by the boy was a fat lip from falling and hitting his mouth on his water bottle, but he shook it off quickly and was ready for the next adventure.  The campsite had an incredible amount of bird life and dozens of Stellar's Jays descended in the afternoons to try and steal unattended food from our table.

We really needed this little camping trip.  We slowed down, disconnected from our devices and made some really nice memories for our family.