The Village - Camping with your family
FAMILY
Camping with your family
By Hilary McGown
I’ve never been much for camping. I don’t come from a family of campers and have held staunchly to the notion of not being a camper for most of my adult life. Asked if she camped, my mother would fire back “my idea of roughing it is slow room service.” A perspective I adopted as my own in an effort to be more in line with her, a misguided attempt to be close and connected. I wanted to be like her so I tried to think like her, fear like her. Some of us rebel against the ideologies, fears or prejudices of our parents while others adopt them as their own in an effort to foster connection. To wit, my daughter has a profound distaste for heights, snakes and ketchup. She also bears a deep affinity for chicken wings, relaxing baths and long books. I decided I wasn’t a camper and closed the door on the matter.
“In our efforts to relax
and unplug, we had inadvertently made it complicated.”
In July 2020 my husband, Nick, and I purchased 15 acres of woods in Quebec’s Eastern Townships with the goal of building our dream house. Given the realities of pandemic life, our build has been delayed due to contractor and material shortages, permit lags, concrete shortages, you name it. To add to the mix, these woods are raw and untouched with zero infrastructure and no imminent plans to install anything resembling livable conditions. The question was, how to make the most of those beautiful woods while we waited it out? After a couple of nights in a small yet pricey hotel, we needed to change gears. There were a few options including an RV, a tent and an off-grid cabin. We quickly ruled out the first 2 (see aforementioned prejudices and undiagnosed yet confirmed snobbery) and settled on the cabin idea. We talked incessantly; we drew plan after plan. It would be small yet staggeringly charming, in line with minutely efficient Japanese hotels, minus the coffins. We scouted the terrain, we sourced solar panels, we designed a dam, we scoured Kijiji, we looked into wind power, we bought a compostable toilet. Technical drawings were produced, plans were printed and very nearly laminated. And then we did nothing. In our efforts to relax and unplug, we had inadvertently made it complicated.
One Saturday we went out to our woods and discovered evidence of recent camping. A tarp had been hung, a fire had been laid and Adirondack chairs had been sat in. Images of Goldilocks laying claim to my serenity were immediately dismissed when I realized my brother-in-law and his 2 boys had taken me up on my casual “you guys can come camp whenever you’d like.” They pitched their tents under the stars and took in the sights, smells and sounds my soul had been screaming for. I was jealous. OF CAMPERS. I quickly realized I had no one to blame but myself and that my ideas of who I was were keeping me from who I am. It was my come to Jesus moment. “My name is Hilary and I am a camper.” We dashed off to our basement and local hardware store to procure the necessities:
- A ten-person tent (space wasn’t at a premium in our 15 acres)
- A queen-sized air mattress (I needed to stack the deck in my favour)
- A sheet set complete with feather duvet (believe it or not this was easier than buying 2 sleeping bags)
- A gas burner, folding table, Italian coffee pot and cast-iron skillet.
We arrived on site around 6:30 with our 8-year-old, Ruby, in tow. Though it was mid-July, the sun was setting faster than we realized. It was dark-ish. It was dark-er in the woods. Any seasoned camper will stress the importance of timing with regards to setting up camp. That daylight is key to avoiding catastrophe and is especially useful when it’s literally your first time doing it. We had a lot to do, including levelling the campsite, clearing it of rocks, branches and other irritants. Thankfully, I had a rusty, unwieldy rake and a quickly diminishing sense of fun on my side. We got to work.
“We weren’t actually incompetent, just mildly disorganized.”
The first order of business was laying down the tarp. Though our brand-new tent came with a terrifyingly thin “waterproof” bottom, I wasn’t taking any chances; our military grade triple thick tarp would surely mimic our hardwood floors. I assumed that folding an 18 X 30 tarp in half would be easy, just line up the corners and edges, fold and go. Twenty minutes later, the tarp was down and I was perspiring a worrying amount for the seasonally low temperature. Next up: the tent. Surely this would be a cinch after having watched the accompanying video showing regular folks like myself getting it done with aplomb in under 10 minutes. I was a regular person; I could do it in under ten minutes. There were two large canvas and mesh type things (tent? rain fly?) with bendy rods and pegs (stakes?) and a “War and Peace” length instruction manual in fifty-ish different languages. Anxiety mounting. Daylight fading. 8-year-old requiring 70th snack of the day and mild assurances that the tent would be up in no time. We laid down what I gleaned to be the actual tent complete with but not limited to: loops, long elastic type deals, hooks, zippers, “windows”, more hooks, etc. Wait - this thing has a VESTIBULE?
It came together in under an hour and the beds were an easy set up thanks to a hand pump I had the common sense to pack. I was feeling confident, almost brazen in my comfort. But what about the fire? What about dinner/bathrooms/lights/teeth brushing/plates/dishes and making sure nothing was lying about? Rumour had it there were bears afoot. Furthermore, with no lights, full moon or neighbours, it was dark. An inky-black total darkness people fear with the force of, ironically, one thousand suns. And yet! We weren’t actually incompetent, just mildly disorganized. The blowtorch at which I rolled my eyes hours previously saved the day, we had a fire blazing in no time. We set up a reasonable “kitchen” and put together a good-looking steak dinner complete with roasted potatoes and asparagus. Medium rare, to boot. Sure, it was 10p.m. by the time we got it together and yes, Ruby cried for a good 10 minutes out of worry and mild starvation. But we did it! Teeth were brushed, the bathroom situation was mostly OK and the supplies were well locked up and (hopefully) bear proof.
“Camping requires planning and a good deal of surrender.”
We had a beautiful meal under the stars, the tent was spacious, comfortable and provided us with the shelter we sought. I slept deeply and comfortably; I had arrived at my destination despite the emotional roadblocks I had erected. We have since fleshed out our camping operation and are far more organized and set up than our first night. Our site has been moved further up the hill and levelled with a real tractor (the rake has since gone in the trash). A true kitchen complete with washing station has been erected and big plans are in store for summer 2022.
Turns out I love camping. It’s creative and simple and celebrates the outdoors. I love making food on the open flame, roasting marshmallows and sleeping outside. I love waking up in the morning when it’s cold and fresh and the day feels pure and alive. There are no screens, no emails or car alarms. The monotony of regular life falls away revealing the open sky and a deep sense of connection and belonging to the natural world. Camping requires planning and a good deal of surrender. You might get dirty or stressed out and your kid might cry. You also might find a piece of your soul along the way. Embrace it.
About the author: Our PR and social media influencer coordinator, Hilary McGown, founded and ran a successful restaurant for more than 10 years before joining the Hatley team. An ability to adapt coupled with a strong sense of adventure, Hilary enjoys cooking, crosswords and spending time outdoors with her family.
FAMILY
Camping with your family
By Hilary McGown
I’ve never been much for camping. I don’t come from a family of campers and have held staunchly to the notion of not being a camper for most of my adult life. Asked if she camped, my mother would fire back “my idea of roughing it is slow room service.” A perspective I adopted as my own in an effort to be more in line with her, a misguided attempt to be close and connected. I wanted to be like her so I tried to think like her, fear like her. Some of us rebel against the ideologies, fears or prejudices of our parents while others adopt them as their own in an effort to foster connection. To wit, my daughter has a profound distaste for heights, snakes and ketchup. She also bears a deep affinity for chicken wings, relaxing baths and long books. I decided I wasn’t a camper and closed the door on the matter.
“In our efforts to relax and unplug, we had inadvertently made it complicated.”
In July 2020 my husband, Nick, and I purchased 15 acres of woods in Quebec’s Eastern Townships with the goal of building our dream house. Given the realities of pandemic life, our build has been delayed due to contractor and material shortages, permit lags, concrete shortages, you name it. To add to the mix, these woods are raw and untouched with zero infrastructure and no imminent plans to install anything resembling livable conditions. The question was, how to make the most of those beautiful woods while we waited it out? After a couple of nights in a small yet pricey hotel, we needed to change gears. There were a few options including an RV, a tent and an off-grid cabin. We quickly ruled out the first 2 (see aforementioned prejudices and undiagnosed yet confirmed snobbery) and settled on the cabin idea. We talked incessantly; we drew plan after plan. It would be small yet staggeringly charming, in line with minutely efficient Japanese hotels, minus the coffins. We scouted the terrain, we sourced solar panels, we designed a dam, we scoured Kijiji, we looked into wind power, we bought a compostable toilet. Technical drawings were produced, plans were printed and very nearly laminated. And then we did nothing. In our efforts to relax and unplug, we had inadvertently made it complicated.
One Saturday we went out to our woods and discovered evidence of recent camping. A tarp had been hung, a fire had been laid and Adirondack chairs had been sat in. Images of Goldilocks laying claim to my serenity were immediately dismissed when I realized my brother-in-law and his 2 boys had taken me up on my casual “you guys can come camp whenever you’d like.” They pitched their tents under the stars and took in the sights, smells and sounds my soul had been screaming for. I was jealous. OF CAMPERS. I quickly realized I had no one to blame but myself and that my ideas of who I was were keeping me from who I am. It was my come to Jesus moment. “My name is Hilary and I am a camper.” We dashed off to our basement and local hardware store to procure the necessities:
- A ten-person tent (space wasn’t at a premium in our 15 acres)
- A queen-sized air mattress (I needed to stack the deck in my favour)
- A sheet set complete with feather duvet (believe it or not this was easier than buying 2 sleeping bags)
- A gas burner, folding table, Italian coffee pot and cast-iron skillet.
We arrived on site around 6:30 with our 8-year-old, Ruby, in tow. Though it was mid-July, the sun was setting faster than we realized. It was dark-ish. It was dark-er in the woods. Any seasoned camper will stress the importance of timing with regards to setting up camp. That daylight is key to avoiding catastrophe and is especially useful when it’s literally your first time doing it. We had a lot to do, including levelling the campsite, clearing it of rocks, branches and other irritants. Thankfully, I had a rusty, unwieldy rake and a quickly diminishing sense of fun on my side. We got to work.
“We weren’t actually incompetent, just mildly disorganized.”
The first order of business was laying down the tarp. Though our brand-new tent came with a terrifyingly thin “waterproof” bottom, I wasn’t taking any chances; our military grade triple thick tarp would surely mimic our hardwood floors. I assumed that folding an 18 X 30 tarp in half would be easy, just line up the corners and edges, fold and go. Twenty minutes later, the tarp was down and I was perspiring a worrying amount for the seasonally low temperature. Next up: the tent. Surely this would be a cinch after having watched the accompanying video showing regular folks like myself getting it done with aplomb in under 10 minutes. I was a regular person; I could do it in under ten minutes. There were two large canvas and mesh type things (tent? rain fly?) with bendy rods and pegs (stakes?) and a “War and Peace” length instruction manual in fifty-ish different languages. Anxiety mounting. Daylight fading. 8-year-old requiring 70th snack of the day and mild assurances that the tent would be up in no time. We laid down what I gleaned to be the actual tent complete with but not limited to: loops, long elastic type deals, hooks, zippers, “windows”, more hooks, etc. Wait - this thing has a VESTIBULE?
It came together in under an hour and the beds were an easy set up thanks to a hand pump I had the common sense to pack. I was feeling confident, almost brazen in my comfort. But what about the fire? What about dinner/bathrooms/lights/teeth brushing/plates/dishes and making sure nothing was lying about? Rumour had it there were bears afoot. Furthermore, with no lights, full moon or neighbours, it was dark. An inky-black total darkness people fear with the force of, ironically, one thousand suns. And yet! We weren’t actually incompetent, just mildly disorganized. The blowtorch at which I rolled my eyes hours previously saved the day, we had a fire blazing in no time. We set up a reasonable “kitchen” and put together a good-looking steak dinner complete with roasted potatoes and asparagus. Medium rare, to boot. Sure, it was 10p.m. by the time we got it together and yes, Ruby cried for a good 10 minutes out of worry and mild starvation. But we did it! Teeth were brushed, the bathroom situation was mostly OK and the supplies were well locked up and (hopefully) bear proof.
“Camping requires planning and a good deal of surrender.”
We had a beautiful meal under the stars, the tent was spacious, comfortable and provided us with the shelter we sought. I slept deeply and comfortably; I had arrived at my destination despite the emotional roadblocks I had erected. We have since fleshed out our camping operation and are far more organized and set up than our first night. Our site has been moved further up the hill and levelled with a real tractor (the rake has since gone in the trash). A true kitchen complete with washing station has been erected and big plans are in store for summer 2022.
Turns out I love camping. It’s creative and simple and celebrates the outdoors. I love making food on the open flame, roasting marshmallows and sleeping outside. I love waking up in the morning when it’s cold and fresh and the day feels pure and alive. There are no screens, no emails or car alarms. The monotony of regular life falls away revealing the open sky and a deep sense of connection and belonging to the natural world. Camping requires planning and a good deal of surrender. You might get dirty or stressed out and your kid might cry. You also might find a piece of your soul along the way. Embrace it.
About the author: Our PR and social media influencer coordinator, Hilary McGown, founded and ran a successful restaurant for more than 10 years before joining the Hatley team. An ability to adapt coupled with a strong sense of adventure, Hilary enjoys cooking, crosswords and spending time outdoors with her family.
FAMILY
Camping with your family
By Hilary McGown
I’ve never been much for camping. I don’t come from a family of campers and have held staunchly to the notion of not being a camper for most of my adult life. Asked if she camped, my mother would fire back “my idea of roughing it is slow room service.” A perspective I adopted as my own in an effort to be more in line with her, a misguided attempt to be close and connected. I wanted to be like her so I tried to think like her, fear like her. Some of us rebel against the ideologies, fears or prejudices of our parents while others adopt them as their own in an effort to foster connection. To wit, my daughter has a profound distaste for heights, snakes and ketchup. She also bears a deep affinity for chicken wings, relaxing baths and long books. I decided I wasn’t a camper and closed the door on the matter.
“In our efforts to relax and unplug, we had inadvertently made it complicated.”
In July 2020 my husband, Nick, and I purchased 15 acres of woods in Quebec’s Eastern Townships with the goal of building our dream house. Given the realities of pandemic life, our build has been delayed due to contractor and material shortages, permit lags, concrete shortages, you name it. To add to the mix, these woods are raw and untouched with zero infrastructure and no imminent plans to install anything resembling livable conditions. The question was, how to make the most of those beautiful woods while we waited it out? After a couple of nights in a small yet pricey hotel, we needed to change gears. There were a few options including an RV, a tent and an off-grid cabin. We quickly ruled out the first 2 (see aforementioned prejudices and undiagnosed yet confirmed snobbery) and settled on the cabin idea. We talked incessantly; we drew plan after plan. It would be small yet staggeringly charming, in line with minutely efficient Japanese hotels, minus the coffins. We scouted the terrain, we sourced solar panels, we designed a dam, we scoured Kijiji, we looked into wind power, we bought a compostable toilet. Technical drawings were produced, plans were printed and very nearly laminated. And then we did nothing. In our efforts to relax and unplug, we had inadvertently made it complicated.
One Saturday we went out to our woods and discovered evidence of recent camping. A tarp had been hung, a fire had been laid and Adirondack chairs had been sat in. Images of Goldilocks laying claim to my serenity were immediately dismissed when I realized my brother-in-law and his 2 boys had taken me up on my casual “you guys can come camp whenever you’d like.” They pitched their tents under the stars and took in the sights, smells and sounds my soul had been screaming for. I was jealous. OF CAMPERS. I quickly realized I had no one to blame but myself and that my ideas of who I was were keeping me from who I am. It was my come to Jesus moment. “My name is Hilary and I am a camper.” We dashed off to our basement and local hardware store to procure the necessities:
- A ten-person tent (space wasn’t at a premium in our 15 acres)
- A queen-sized air mattress (I needed to stack the deck in my favour)
- A sheet set complete with feather duvet (believe it or not this was easier than buying 2 sleeping bags)
- A gas burner, folding table, Italian coffee pot and cast-iron skillet.
We arrived on site around 6:30 with our 8-year-old, Ruby, in tow. Though it was mid-July, the sun was setting faster than we realized. It was dark-ish. It was dark-er in the woods. Any seasoned camper will stress the importance of timing with regards to setting up camp. That daylight is key to avoiding catastrophe and is especially useful when it’s literally your first time doing it. We had a lot to do, including levelling the campsite, clearing it of rocks, branches and other irritants. Thankfully, I had a rusty, unwieldy rake and a quickly diminishing sense of fun on my side. We got to work.
“We weren’t actually incompetent, just mildly disorganized.”
The first order of business was laying down the tarp. Though our brand-new tent came with a terrifyingly thin “waterproof” bottom, I wasn’t taking any chances; our military grade triple thick tarp would surely mimic our hardwood floors. I assumed that folding an 18 X 30 tarp in half would be easy, just line up the corners and edges, fold and go. Twenty minutes later, the tarp was down and I was perspiring a worrying amount for the seasonally low temperature. Next up: the tent. Surely this would be a cinch after having watched the accompanying video showing regular folks like myself getting it done with aplomb in under 10 minutes. I was a regular person; I could do it in under ten minutes. There were two large canvas and mesh type things (tent? rain fly?) with bendy rods and pegs (stakes?) and a “War and Peace” length instruction manual in fifty-ish different languages. Anxiety mounting. Daylight fading. 8-year-old requiring 70th snack of the day and mild assurances that the tent would be up in no time. We laid down what I gleaned to be the actual tent complete with but not limited to: loops, long elastic type deals, hooks, zippers, “windows”, more hooks, etc. Wait - this thing has a VESTIBULE?
It came together in under an hour and the beds were an easy set up thanks to a hand pump I had the common sense to pack. I was feeling confident, almost brazen in my comfort. But what about the fire? What about dinner/bathrooms/lights/teeth brushing/plates/dishes and making sure nothing was lying about? Rumour had it there were bears afoot. Furthermore, with no lights, full moon or neighbours, it was dark. An inky-black total darkness people fear with the force of, ironically, one thousand suns. And yet! We weren’t actually incompetent, just mildly disorganized. The blowtorch at which I rolled my eyes hours previously saved the day, we had a fire blazing in no time. We set up a reasonable “kitchen” and put together a good-looking steak dinner complete with roasted potatoes and asparagus. Medium rare, to boot. Sure, it was 10p.m. by the time we got it together and yes, Ruby cried for a good 10 minutes out of worry and mild starvation. But we did it! Teeth were brushed, the bathroom situation was mostly OK and the supplies were well locked up and (hopefully) bear proof.
“Camping requires planning and a good deal of surrender.”
We had a beautiful meal under the stars, the tent was spacious, comfortable and provided us with the shelter we sought. I slept deeply and comfortably; I had arrived at my destination despite the emotional roadblocks I had erected. We have since fleshed out our camping operation and are far more organized and set up than our first night. Our site has been moved further up the hill and levelled with a real tractor (the rake has since gone in the trash). A true kitchen complete with washing station has been erected and big plans are in store for summer 2022.
Turns out I love camping. It’s creative and simple and celebrates the outdoors. I love making food on the open flame, roasting marshmallows and sleeping outside. I love waking up in the morning when it’s cold and fresh and the day feels pure and alive. There are no screens, no emails or car alarms. The monotony of regular life falls away revealing the open sky and a deep sense of connection and belonging to the natural world. Camping requires planning and a good deal of surrender. You might get dirty or stressed out and your kid might cry. You also might find a piece of your soul along the way. Embrace it.
About the author: Our PR and social media influencer coordinator, Hilary McGown, founded and ran a successful restaurant for more than 10 years before joining the Hatley team. An ability to adapt coupled with a strong sense of adventure, Hilary enjoys cooking, crosswords and spending time outdoors with her family.
