Musings on Camping in a House Half Done

In 26 Fairmount Avenue, 5 year-old Tomie can’t wait to move into his new house. The year is 1938, and his parents had bought a plot of land on the outskirts of Merimac, Connecticut. We follow Tomie as he recounts the trials and tribulations his family faces to get their house constructed. It took more than 2 years but on January 1st 1940, they move into their new suburban home.

“Oh the irony,” I thought to myself as Clyde and I read 26 Fairmount Avenue while laying on our queen sized mattress on the floor in our house in Maine.

We’d been “indoor camping” at our renovation site for almost a week. On that crisp Maine morning, we giggled and commiserated with little Tomie as he recounted rainstorms that turned the dirt access road into a mudslide or the hurricane which whisked away the house frame. Though we had not had such natural disasters befall our project (yet), I could sympathize entirely with little Tomie’s frustration of wanting to just “move in.” Like that road trip which seems never-ending, I keep asking myself, “Are we there yet?” Sadly after two years we are not, having suffered contractor availabilities, supply chain issues, material price hikes, and the like.

This past winter, my husband and I decided that done or not done we were going to stay in our house in Maine this summer. True to our word, at the end of June, we rolled into York replete with sleeping bags, pillows and air mattresses. I’d stocked up on basic household items which waited patiently at our doorstep (thank you Amazon!). We were fortunate to have a port-o-pottie on site due to on-going work. My husband had managed to get one day of work out of the local electrician to set up lighting throughout. We hooked up an old fridge in the basement. We were off to the races.

Having grown up spending a lot of my time in the outdoors, I’ll admit that I absolutely loved our camping set-up. We’d slide open the big doors facing the water every morning, step down onto the lawn, and set out filling Nalgene bottles from the outdoor faucet. I had organized a washing table outside with soap, hand towel, wash bucket and cloth for dish drying and tooth brushing. I’d even bought us a solar shower bag which we hooked up on a large stake in the back lawn. One of my highlights of our trip was sitting on a stool in my bathing suit under the shower head, washing my hair beneath the sun-filled sky.

There is something very magical with being quite close to nature—even if still enjoyed from the comforts of a solid house structure. Most activities happened outside since we didn’t have plumbing. This also made our days pleasantly slow: getting in a morning or afternoon paddle on the river; sweeping the floors and cleaning dishes; reading in our pajamas into the mid-morning; taking the dogs for a walk on the beach; or going down to the local bagel shop for morning bagels with cream cheese. Clyde would have this huge smile on his face every night as he tucked into his sleeping bag on the Thermarest in our communal bedroom. We were camping! In our house!

We spiced things up with daily water balloon fights, firefly catching in the late evening, and fireworks at the beach which we could glimpse from our shoreline. It was nice to slow down, to pull the inside outside, to live seemingly simply.

Of all the seasons, summer gives us the most permission to do things out of the ordinary. Take a moment if you can in the remaining weeks to try out a little camping. As simple as setting up a tent in your backyard or going to one of our many state or national park camp sites. Many offer cabins for those less interested in sleeping in tents. Back home in Canada, Mountain Equipment Coop (MEC) rents equipment so you don’t have to invest in a full fleet of gear. Here in the US, REI Coop does the same. Experience peeing in an outhouse. Hanging your food in a tree at night to ward off bears. Washing dishes with a clump of moss. Cooking on one lone burner.

For my husband and son who had never camped before, this summer’s house camping was a gentle ease into it (of course, my die-hard Canadian friends would consider our venture this summer the equivalent of ‘glamping,’ renovation style). I think we might be ready for something more serious next year. have friends who camp every June on Chincoteague Island to see the wild horses. I’m gearing the family up for that one.

My only goal is that our next camping adventure will not be our house in Maine, again.