Pretending to know how to grill, or, Jill goes camping
A few weeks ago I went back home to Michigan to go camping in Watervliet, near Lake Michigan. My family camped multiple times a summer when I was younger, and used a popup. I don’t care if you think that’s not camping—when it’s pouring rain and you are sitting in the middle of the tent trying not to touch the sides for fear of moisture leaking in, and trying not to sit on the huge pile of sand or that dead bug, we’ll be sitting warm and dry at our table playing cards. I will agree, though, that if you take your gigantic 1-mile-per-gallon motorhome out to some spot and call it camping, you are either well past retirement or a total failure at camping. I may as well say I’ve been camping in Boston since January. I have heat, a shower, and an oven in my apartment, too. But we were going tent camping, which makes cooking that much more challenging.
