I’ve learned very early in my life that I am not a “nature person”. Maybe it has something to do with how I was raised, maybe it’s just something that’s developed over the years, who knows? All I can say for certain is my idea of “nature” is dirt, sweat, and disgusting insects. My family has never been the type to hike the Grand Canyon on a vacation or plan a camping adventure for a long weekend and the few times we have ventured out into the wild, our experiences have been anything but great. Laughable, sure, but not the type that you look back and think “Aw, let’s do that again sometime.”
One of the earliest camping memories I have was with the Girl Scouts. Yes, you read that correctly, Maddy was in fact once a Girl Scout. So nobody can say that I didn’t try my very best to be an adventurer as a child.
On this particular excursion we were spending the night at some old zoo facility. It seemed legit; they had teepees, a playground and all sorts of cool exotic animals. All seemed well until late that night some massive thunderstorm attacked us out of nowhere and flooded all of our tents. The parents who were sponsoring the trip advised we all just pile into one tent rather than leave the camp. (Because that makes sense…?) So, about ten girls and five adults crammed into one four-person tent as a hurricane raged on around us. To top it off, a couple of the girls had a huge fear of thunder so everyone huddled together, screaming and crying, as water flooded the entire floorboard. Also, fun fact: exotic zoo animals make a lot of noise in a thunderstorm. Ha! Who would have known? When every animal from the Sahara is yelling all together, it surprisingly does not sound like the soundtrack of the Lion King. The next morning we all walked away soaking wet, deaf, and completely sleep-deprived. Don’t worry, “camping is fun, of course ” they all said.
Another memory of mine involving the outdoors would be the classic tale of, “The River Dog.” With that title alone, you know we’re already set for a blockbuster hit. When I was about nine or ten, my family decided to rent out a house by the river in Wimberley, Texas, for a weekend getaway. It was gorgeous; the water was perfection, the town itself is absolutely adorable and the house was chic and luxurious.
On the last day, we decided to swim one more time before we hit the road for home. My mom, brother and I were splashing around when a dog approached the rock you had to jump from to get into the water, of course, started gushing over the blonde labrador, “She’s so pretty! Look at your cute little bandana! Oh, you are just the prettiest little pup!” My brother and I kept swimming, unphased by the mysterious dog. Suddenly, the dog leaped into the river but immediately started to panic. Rather than doggy paddle, she decided to use my brother and me as floatation devices. However, the water was very deep and in an effort to stay afloat, the dog was scratching us and pushing us deeper and deeper under the water. Using her super-mother-powers, my mom swam over, grabbed onto the dog and dragged her over to an island in the middle of the river where she could stand. We left the river that day covered in claw marks, crying, and now scarred for life of rivers and large dogs. “The River Dog” made for another stamp in my passport of nature horror stories in addition to an excuse my mother will never let us live down. “So you won’t do the dishes?? Remember the River Dog, Madeline! Remember the River Dog!!”
My most recent nature expedition was a trip to Enchanted Rock with two of my best friends from college. The two of them had been wanting to go for weeks and I had run out of my list of excuses to delay the trip as much as I possibly could, so we all met up in Fredericksburg that Saturday and headed for the rock. I live in Texas so just to start off — it is literally hot as hell.
Just being outside in the first place is something I strongly try to the best of my abilities to avoid. After a gruesome hike to the top of the rock and sweating out every ounce of water my body had, my friends decided it was time to go explore the caves. Instantly, I started doing the math to see how much it would cost to get an Uber to take me all the way home. If there’s one thing you should know about me, it is that I am petrified of three things in this world. 1). Heights 2). Falling and 3). Freaking caves, man. No. Way. I must have been totally delirious from the heat, but something possessed me and I followed them into the cave opening. Due to all of the rain from the beginning of the summer, the inside of the cave was soaking wet. We were slipping constantly, still sweating bullets, and I was cussing like a sailor. I’m sure some people would look at that cave and laugh, but I was horrified the entire time. It felt like I was in the low-budget version “127 Hours”, and even though my version would only be titled “45 Minutes,” and no limbs would be lost that day, in my eyes, it was still just as terrifying.
So maybe I’ve just been cursed with nature’s bad side, but am I crazy to prefer air conditioning over sunburns? Are bee stings and mosquito bites really better than manis and pedis?
I am envious of those people who enjoy hiking up mountains and exploring hidden forests, but at the same time, I’m pretty talented at hiking up treadmills and exploring the innermost hidden YouTube videos so who’s the real winner?
