I’ve been, sort of, a camper most of my life. From the time I was a Troop 7 Boy Scout in Luray, thru, as an Assistant Scout Master, camping with my son’s Troop 63 in Virginia Beach, to camping with family and friends, at various campgrounds in Virginia. Heck, I even camped on the AT, and hiked maybe 10 miles of the two-thousand. (My wife did more than 1600, mostly solo, but she has her own blog.)

But time moves on and we traded sleeping on the hard ground for the comfort of an RV on the water…a sailboat. It had real cushions to sleep on and a stove and a sink and you didn’t have to walk the length of a football field to the rest room.

We took that 18-footer across the bay and back and out into weather we had no business venturing into. But God smiles on fools and sailors, and we were definitely in the former category. Later the 18-foooter was replaced by a 26-footer with even more plush accommodations, including a flush toilet with a holding tank to replace the porta potty. We ended up with a 30-footer that allowed us to sail the northern and southern Chesapeake Bay and the many coves, rivers, and wonderful towns on both sides. But with a sailboat comes a lot of maintenance and eventually the work outpaced the pleasure.

Next came an RV, a 26 foot travel trailer of a friend, that basically stayed at Cherrystone Campground north of Cape Charles. We used that camper from March to October except for July and August which was too hot for this weeny.  

Now the camper is gone, and we have graduated to a cottage…even though we’re still at Cherrystone. But this has become my kind of camping. I am sitting on a screen front porch. Behind me in the cottage are two TV; a kitchen with a full-size refrigerator; two bedrooms, and a bath with a shower big enough for you and a friend.

Do I love it? You betcha. Am I glad I had the earlier camping experience? Yep. Do I want to do it again? Not on your life. -dm