Luxury camping

Scott Chaffin gets a nice mention in the San Antonio Express-News in a story about His Tiny Biz, a luxury campground called Buck's on the Brazos.

Now, as a born-and-bred citified Yankee boy, I'm a world-class tenderfoot. To steal a line from Jack Benny, "roughing it" to me is when the cable goes out. But even I can feel morally superior to this story's author:

After five hours in the car and stopping only once, it was time for a visit to the bathhouse. While the cinder block structure was only a few yards from the tent, we had to climb a small hill to get there — something I was not willing to do in the rain. So my husband, gentleman that he is, happily drove me up the hill each time I needed to heed the call.

On our first visit, Jim went in ahead of me to check for uninvited guests. The coast was clear, or so he thought. Moments after I went in, Jim came running back in response to my screams. There it was — a tiny field mouse perched on a rafter watching me and cockily lunging forward as if challenging me to a fight. Since we were the only guests at the campsite, my husband offered to let me use the men's. We discovered mice travel in pairs.

"My wife used to react the same way," [Chaffin] said later. "But now she feeds them."

Ah, the great outdoors. If only there weren't so much wildlife around, it'd be perfect. I should note that my parents, who were here in town visiting last weekend, have become Actual Outdoors People since moving from New York to Portland, OR, in 1999. They hike, they kayak (!), they do all sorts of things. So maybe there's hope for me yet.

Posted by Charles Kuffner on December 17, 2002 to The great state of Texas | TrackBack