By the time I was in first grade we had a tent. We spent days swimming and fishing in a little creek and nights we sat around a dying fire and dad called owls. Dad had the owls talking to each other and to him. Dad is from Mudville--as far back in the sticks as one can get.
We dug a Dakota holes and cook steaks on a wire grill. We fried crispy little bream and sun perch on a butane cooker.
We slept on cots in the tent. One night a tremendous thunderstorm poured in and turned the floor of the tent into a creek. We packed up in the downpour and went home. We sold the tent and bought a "pop-up camper." We never missed the tent.