The Camping Trip

A factual account by Priscilla B. Shuler

Tuesday coming would be the first day of the new school year and I was surprised at how quickly the summer had passed. I’d not gotten to do anything special this year, that is, except Saturday stock car races. We went nearly every weekend. I liked the races, but they had become kinda boring.

My older brother, Forest, got to go hunting and fishing with his buddies, but none of my friends lived anywhere near where we did, and Daddy had forbade me spending the night away. I felt a little deprived, and looked forward to the beginning of school again, where I could at least see my friends.

I’d been down at the chicken yard gathering eggs, and as I headed back to the house, I was able to see the far side yard from the path. Daddy was pounding pegs into the ground around a large, tan, canvas tent.

I hurried into the kitchen with the big brown eggs and placed the basket on the counter. Mama was standing in front of the kerosene cook stove stirring grits. On a rear eye, a pan of ham was sizzling gently, and I knew there were crispy biscuits browning in the oven.

“Why’s Daddy puttin’ up a tent, Mama?” I asked, as I wrung out a soapy rag and began wiping the eggs.
“Checkin’ for leaks, and makin’ sure he’s got all the ropes and pegs,” she answered.
“What for?”
Turning and wiping her hands on her apron, she smiled and said, “We’re goin’ to the mountains for the weekend, honey.”
“Am I goin’ too?”
“Of course, ‘Cilla. We’re all going. Daddy thought we ought to go while we can before y’all have to get back to school. We’ll leave early in the morning and come home Sunday night. That’ll give us all day Monday to get lined up for school on Tuesday.”
“Where’re we goin’?” I asked.
“Probably around Burton and Rabun. Now after supper you need to get a few things ready for me to pack. And I only want you to bring old clothes. We’ll be outside the whole time except when we’re asleep in the tent.”

After I’d finished cleaning the eggs and stacking them in the bowl, I hurried outside to see Daddy entering the tent. I went inside with him. It smelled like dusty oil. I stood in the warm darkness and heard the fabric creaking as it stretched tightly in the warm sun.

“What’re you looking for Daddy?” I asked, searching the interior to see if I could find it before he could tell me.
“Checkin’ for weak spots and holes. We don’t want to get wet or have the tent tearing, now do we?”
“Nossir. Will it be raining in the mountains?”
“I don’t know, Sugar. But we want to be ready in case it does,” he answered.

Daddy’s tent was equipped with a canvas floor which snapped to the walls. He said this feature helped to keep out ground dampness and predators. I didn’t know what predators were, but I figured I’d learn when we were in our campsite.

At the supper table all the talk was of what we’d do and see while we were living in the woods. Forest had been camping lots of times. At least that’s what he told me and it must’ve been so, cause Mama and Daddy never corrected him. Of course, he was six years older than me, so that made him thirteen. I knew his pals had a tent because I’d seen it in their back yard. It was just a small one though. You couldn’t stand up in it, but I guessed you could sit up once you crawled inside.

After helping Mama clean the kitchen, she and I went to do the packing. Forest had already laid out the clothes he wanted to take, and Mama went though them. She packed some and some she put back in his room. She brought out another pair of his Keds and some socks.

I went through my stack of sunsuits and pulled out two of my favorites, but before I could get them to the suitcase, Mama was shaking her head.
“Why not?” I asked.
“It’ll be too cool. You’ll need a couple old dresses, and a sweater, and I’ve already got your windbreaker and underclothes packed,” she said.
“What about my pajamas?” I asked.
“No, you won’t be needin’ any pajamas. We’ll sleep in our clothes. Only thing we’ll take off are our shoes,” she replied.
“Wow. I never slept in my clothes before, except in the car when we go to Grandma’s,” I said.
“Well, you’ll get to sleep in ‘em tomorrow night. Now finish up and get ready for bed. We’ll be getting’ up real early in the morning.”

She leaned over and placed a kiss on the top of my head and patted my behind as she left the bedroom and headed back toward the kitchen.

Next thing I knew I was up and dressed in comfortable clothes and sitting at the breakfast table. It was still plenty dark outside, but I watched as Daddy and Forest loaded the car by the light shining through the open kitchen door.

Mama came back from opening the yard gate so the chickens could forage while we were gone. They’d be safe enough cause they’d be back in the fowl house well before dark, and we’d be back home come Sunday evening.

I put the dirty dishes into the sink and washed ‘em real fast, stacked them in the drainer, and just covered them with the drying cloth.

“Hurry up, ‘Cilla. We’re ready to go,” called Daddy. Forest was already in the back seat behind were Daddy would be driving. I ran and grabbed a handful of my “Little Books” and picked up the new Field and Stream for Forest. As I ran out the back door, Daddy was turning off all the lights. Mama waited until I was settled in before she laid her seat back and got in.

Piled between me and my brother was a bag of food, a box of cooking utensils, and four camp stools. We were sitting high, upon folded quilts and I delighted in the sounds and smells in the air around me. Mingled with the comforting sounds of crickets and cricket frogs, was the smell of the canvas tent, packed at the rear of the car, and the breakfast smell emanating from the paper bag.

In the coolness of the hour, I was snuggled deep within my sweater and did not know when I had returned to sleep. The sun was shining brightly in my face when I became aware of voices and activity going on in the car. I awoke to see Forest eating a ham biscuit and drinking water from a quart jar.

“Mama, can I have a biscuit, too?” I asked.She didn’t answer, but reached back with one of those delectable biscuits wrapped in wax paper. I believe that’s the
best taste on earth - cold biscuits wrapped around salty country ham.

After our hunger was satisfied, Forest and I stayed entertained with our books. Before long Daddy pulled in at a filling station on the other side of Macon. We all got out and used the dirty restrooms, while Daddy was paying for the car to be filled with gasoline from the Fire Chief pump.

We didn’t stop again until we were in Toccoa where we took another bathroom break and stretched our legs. From there we headed westward into the deep mountains toward
Turnerville. Just beyond there we found Bear Gap road. Oakey Mountain was up to our left. The dirt road was narrow and winding and Daddy had to drive real slow because the car would skid on the small rocks.

Sometime later we were at the crest of the gap and Daddy found a likely spot to set up camp. The area was shaded, flat, and with plenty of room off the road. We piled out, and all of us helped to get everything out of the car. It didn’t take long before Daddy had the tent up and Forest was given the task of cutting lots and lots of pine bows to spread down on the floor of the tent… down each side and across the rear. Over the bows, Mama and I spread quilts for our mattresses and then more quilts, for our covers.


Daddy had piled up a circle of rocks and used some of the small pine limbs to get a fire laid while Forest and I gathered dead wood from the nearby forest. Daddy didn’t light the fire yet, but everything was ready.

As the sun was beyond prime, Daddy and Mama decided now was as good a time as any to go on over the gap and head down toward Seed Lake and up toward Burton and go to Guy Rucker’s store.

They left us in charge of the site with Forest in charge of me. We waved them goodbye, hearing the words, “We’ll hurry back. Y’all stay outa trouble, now.”
Our site was right next to a babbling mountain stream which came from upward toward Oakey’s crest. I knew there had to be “little pitcher” plants along the banks of that stream, and I proposed to Forest that we climb upward and look for them.

That little plant is rare and not easy to find. It has a fleshy heart-shaped leaf set close to the dank earth. Once spied, if you lift the leaf, you’re rewarded with the tiny brown pitcher shaped flower nestled beneath. It has an ivy smell to it that makes one want to gather more. The hunting is most of the pleasure of finding the little gems.

Anyway, Forest agreed that he’d go with me on the search up the side of the mountain for a little ways. But I had to promise that when he said we’d gone far enough, I would turn and follow him back to camp. I readily agreed.

Just as I suspected, there were quite a few of the little plants up the steep incline. Forest was jumping from rock to rock, midstream of the brook, and had gotten somewhat wet. I was busy filling my skirt with tiny brown jugs when Forest said it was time to turn around and head back. I kept my head down and pretended not to hear. He repeated his demand. I feigned deafness. I suppose he became frustrated with my folly, so he tried a different tactic.

“Bear! Bear!” he cried.
My heart leapt into my throat and I forgot my cache of brown jugs as I fled back down the mountain. Forest was ahead of me by a few feet but I jumped at him, aiming for his back. I figured I’d ride him down like a horse. Needless to say, we both went down like a ton of bricks… tumbling, bumping, snagging across fallen limbs, in our descent. We landed back at the campsite with an earth-shaking jolt. I lifted myself off the ground and headed for the tent. Once inside, I turned to peep through the flap to see Forest rolling on the ground in gales of hearty laughter.

I went back outside and began laughing at him. He was a wet, dirty mess; leaves stuck hither and yon over his clothes and in his hair. I was pointing at him, and he was pointing at me. We were found thus, as Daddy and Mama drove back into the campsite.

It took some tall explaining to keep from getting whipped for getting so messed up. Forest was to stay in his wet clothes until time for bed. I barely got by. After all it was my fault since I wouldn’t come back when he told me to ~ twice!

Daddy soon worked up a nice hot fire and placed the metal grid on top of the rocks. We sat around the fire as Mama got the meal cooking. It was wonderful listening to them talking of the years they’d lived here in the North East Georgia Mountains.

Daddy had come into this area in 1925 to start up the new hydro-electric power plant on Lake Burton. He and Mama and my older sister, Victoria, lived in a tarpaper-covered, two-room, line shack for a while as their company house was being built. Mama gave birth to Forest just after they’d moved into one of the two company houses in ‘26.

They’d lived there until the depression hit and Daddy was laid off in 1930. At that time they moved to Union, South Carolina and went back into the cotton mill. In 1932, when I was born, my great aunt came and took my older sister back to Florida to live with her. I grew up hardly knowing I had a sister.

Listening to all the stories of their lives before I was on the scene, gave me a sense of completeness in their connection with the area we were now visiting.

All the while the storytelling’ was going on, Mama was busy preparing our supper meal. The scent was mouth-watering and whetted our appetites, and the pale blue smoke snaked downward, toward the valley.

Mama and Daddy were telling of how good it was to have seen Guy Rucker and his family again. They had brought back some candy and drinks for us, from their jaunt down to Rucker’s store. The store building itself was owned by my Uncle Frank Edmondson, who was married to Daddy’s youngest sister, Irene.

Our blue enamel plates had been heaped with the supper fare and Daddy had poured the dark coffee in two tin mugs for himself and Mama. Forest and I were downing Dr. Peppers. Without much concern I began slapping at the couple of mosquitoes who’d landed on my bare arms seeking their supper.

I notice Mama and Daddy were also beginning to become active in the swatting game. Forest finally stood and ran into the tent and came out with a jacket, which he donned and zipped up. This was a poor attempt to ward off the onslaught of the ravenous little devils.

Soon, it was evident that our meal was being forgotten in light of the vicious invasion. We all rose, as one body, and ran into the tent, where sadly, there was no relief. If anything it was worse. It seemed that the warmth which had built up from the sun heating the interior of the tent also encouraged masses of little blood-suckers inside.

Daddy spoke first. “Maude, you and the children put out the fire, pack up as quickly as you can. I’ll break down the tent. Let’s get outa’ here.”

It had taken us a couple of hours to pack at home to get ready to leave for this little trip, but it only took about twenty minutes to get everything piled back inside the car, where Forest and I were covered and so was Mama. Daddy could only manage to get the trunk strapped to the back of the car. The rest was stuffed in on top of us, including the tent.

About half way home, Mama began to snicker. At first I thought she was crying, then I realized at about the same time as Daddy and Forest did, that she was laughing. We all began guffawing and laughing so hard, my sides began hurting again. At least, the trip home was funny, if nothing else.

When we got back to the house, we left everything where it was, except the tent. Daddy had to take it off of us before we could get out of the car. Once inside, Mama checked me over for the mosquito bites and after my spit bath, she dabbed all the spots with Calamine. I put on my polka dotted pajamas and Daddy said I looked like I’d been the prime target of the dive-bombing mosquitoes.

Next morning, we unloaded the car and spent the day talking about our adventure and how we’d be sure to take plenty of mosquito repellant if we ever decided to go camping again.

We never did.