THE POLITICALLY CORRECT CAMPGROUND
It was the summer of 1989 and we were on vacation. Seven children, a 26-foot camper, and a 15-passenger van equipped with a television and VHS tape player. The TV and tape player made our long trips possible. The kids brought Play Station games as well and between movies and Mario Brothers everyone was entertained on the long drives. We were firm believers in family vacations to far away places, and the kids had to go along.
1989 was the trip to a place in South Carolina called Edisto Island. This is a State Park located on the barrier dunes on the Atlantic coast, and a three-day drive from Kansas City. Along the way to South Carolina we stopped at interesting and entertaining places such as Dollywood, which happens to be just like Silver Dollar City at Branson, Missouri. If you have been to one, you can skip the other. We camped in a great little RV park right next to the City wastewater treatment plant, enjoyed the fragrant atmosphere for two nights, and kept the little kids from playing in the convenient, foamy, receiving stream, sorry, engineer lingo, then drove on through the beautiful Smokey Mountains into the Carolina’s.
We got to Edisto late in the day and couldn’t get in. The ranger directed us to an overflow campground located just up the road in a swamp. No services, so we couldn’t have air conditioning, but that was ok. It was just for one night. Then the no-see-ums found us. You probably don’t know what no-see-ums are. Let me tell you. They are tiny tiny mosquitoes. So small they crawl right through screens, and, of course, with no air conditioning, all the doors and windows had to be open. No-see-ums bite like crazy. The boys quickly abandoned the out-of-doors and retreated to the van, rolling up all the windows. The girls and us stayed in the camper providing dinner to thousands of no-see-ums. The next day after a sleepless night we found there wasn’t a square inch of our exposed skin that wasn’t covered with little red mosquito bites.
The next day we headed back to Edisto with some trepidation, but the ranger told us there were no mosquitoes on the beach and that was where we would be camping. The park at Edisto, selected by Cheryl the vacation planner using some secret means we have never figured out, was really cool. The camper spots had brackish water hookups, electricity, and no sewer. But it was well worth it. We were just behind the barrier dune and only100 feet from the ocean. We quickly forgot about the no-see-ums. This was the first time the kids had been to the ocean. It was fascinating. We swam, netted crabs, swam, collected sand dollars, swam some more, surfed and got thoroughly sunburned. We ate the crabs. Brooke, my oldest daughter got some perverse enjoyment from dropping the little critters into boiling water and listening to their high-pitched screams. There is not much meat on these tropical crabs, but after you get over listening to them boil to death, they are pretty tasty. After a few days, the holding tank filled up clear into the toilet and it was time to go.
We wanted to visit CJ Martin, the son of friends from back home, who had joined the military and was stationed at Fort Bragg in North Carolina, so we headed that way. We drove our camper right up to his barracks unannounced and had a picnic lunch with CJ and about 50 other kids who quietly gathered around to savor this remarkable taste of home. It was very moving and we hated to leave, but it was at least 100o with 99% humidity, and we needed to get the air conditioning going. The next stretch we planned was driving up the Appalachian Trail until we hit I-64 where we would head west toward home. Off we went, and I am sure the Appalachian Trail was very beautiful. Unfortunately, it was entirely fogged in and we could barely see the road, much less the beautiful scenery.
Late in the day we arrived at I-64, desperate to find a place to stop for the night. We headed west on the interstate. Surely we would find a KOA soon. So we thought. We didn’t realize Senator Bird didn’t allow KOA’s or any other commercial campgrounds in West Virginia. Only State campgrounds. After an hour or so we saw a sign for Beech Fork State Park, advertising camping and a general store. It was some 10 miles south of the highway, but that general store looked mighty attractive. We could replenish our supplies, now running pretty low, and have a good dinner. It was dusk when we turned onto Route 152 and headed south.
The highway was a narrow blacktop running up and down hills and twisting along the ridges of the foothills. We were getting close when we came to the top of a really steep drop into a valley. I could see the road climbing up the other side and had a worrisome sinking sensation. It didn’t look like the van could climb that hill. There was no way to turn around, so I instructed the kids to start a power chant to encourage the engine, and off we went, peddle to the metal, GO…GO…GO…resounding from the back. Down we went, picking up speed, then up the other side. Somehow we made it, crawling over the top at five miles per hour, and started down an even steeper grade. This grade twisted back and forth and I couldn’t help but notice the scarred up guard rails on either side. It got even steeper, but after one last hairpin curve with battered guardrails, brakes smoking, we hit the bottom and coasted into Beech Fork State Park. I made a mental note, and underlined it. Do not attempt that hill in the morning. I would just add to the guardrail scarring. I would not make it back up that hill.
The park was beautiful. Surrounded by steep hills and mountains, a cold stream running through it, and geese strutting around. At one end was the rustic general store, and we had our pick of campsites. Being a state park, it was aimed primarily at tent campers, and did not have hookups for RV campers, just electric, but that was ok. We weren’t even going to unhook the camper from the van. So the boys jumped out and in their usual frenetic way, put the jacks under the corners of the camper and set up their awning tent. Cheryl and I strolled around with Anastasia (Nana), then three years old, letting the days’ tension drain away.
The geese followed us. Nana liked that and wanted to feed them, so Cheryl got her some pieces of bread to toss, and we walked to the general store. At the store we were met by a rangerette, complete with green uniform, severely tied back hair, no makeup, grim look, and a military-like hat. Cheryl started up a friendly conversation.
“What food do you have here?” She asked.
“None.” Answered the rangerette.
“But the signs on the highway said you had a general store.
”
“We are out of food.”
“Well, that is really too bad.” Said Cheryl, eying the shelves full of food.
The rangerette was obviously thinking, “What are you worthless RV camper people doing here in my campground?”
“We have been on the road for days and really needed to shop for dinner tonight.”
“Can’t you see this park is for real people who camp in tents and don’t pollute the environment.”
“We don’t have any facilities for RV’s.” Commented the rangerette.
“That’s OK, we are self-contained.” I replied. At least I am containing myself – barely.
Cheryl said, “I noticed a sign coming in that offered Pizza, delivered”
“They are in Huntington, 10 miles away. They don’t come here.”
“Do you mind if I use your phone?”
“Suit yourself.” OMG, these worthless middleclass flyovers are going to order pizza.
Five minutes later the pizza was ordered and would be delivered in 45 minutes. As a peace offering Cheryl said,
“You have really friendly geese here. They were following us around. My daughter asked for some bread so she could feed them.”
“You can’t feed the geese bread. It sours in their stomachs and can kill them.”
“Oh. Well, Anastasia is only 3 years old and didn’t know that.”
“I could have her arrested for that!”
“She is only three!”
“Well, I won’t arrest her, but the birds have to be protected. From yokels like you.
Sometimes Cheryl has a mean streak.
“Have you heard the Jeff Foxworthy joke about the minute rice?”
“No.”
“In Atlanta they had to ban the throwing of rice at weddings. It seems the sparrows eat it and after a while it swells up in their little stomachs and they explode.”
What horror is this!!!
“I’d pay good money to see birds exploding.”
“I wonder what happens if you feed them minute rice? Do you suppose they explode in a minute?”
“That is NOT funny. I am an environmentalist you know.”
You mean environmentalist whacko, right?
“I thought it was.”
Well, that was a thoroughly disgruntled politically correct rangerette, but I had to get some information from her. I asked her if there was another way out of the campground on account of I didn’t think I could pull that hill we came down getting in here. I got directions.
“Sure. Just go toward the mountain there and when you get to the fork in the road keep right.”
We walked back to the camper, noticing various tent campers tossing dishwater on the grass. Well, what is good for the goose is good for the gander. At the camper, I took the spare tire that we had to carry inside, and rolled it around to lean up against the side blocking the view of the sewer hookup. Then I opened the drain to the kitchen and bathroom sinks. That would make things much easier. Later that evening, the rangerette drove by several times with her flashlight peering at the spare tire, but she couldn’t see anything and didn’t have the guts to actually stop. After all, it is well known that flyover camper people all carry illegal guns with them.
The next day we cleared out early. Following the directions of the rangerette, I headed to the fork in the road. When we got there I quickly decided I must have misunderstood the directions. Keeping right would take us straight to the unclimbable hill. Keeping left the road took off up the mountain but on a more reasonable grade. I turned left. After going around the side of the mountain we descended into the valley and followed the creek, eventually regaining the interstate. We had thwarted the revenge of the rangerette, and were glad to escape from West Virginia.
I was a little ticked off and amazed at the rangerette, and decided I was done with camping for this trip. I drove straight through to Kansas City, arriving home at 2:30 a.m. No politically correct anything at our old house. Just a comfortable bed.
END
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