Lately, I have been thinking a lot about my summer experiences as a kid.
I am not sure why. It may be because of the persistent heat waves that have gripped the southern states this year. It may be that I live in tropical Queensland and the heat, humidity and six month long summers are pretty much staple conversation here.
I suspect it is mainly because, as I watch my kids grow up, I am realising more and more that the kind of experiences I had during summer in my childhood and teenage years, are exactly the kind of experiences I want my kids to have.
We were lucky enough to grow up in a small town on the NSW/Victoria border, so summer for me consisted of getting home from school, changing into a pair of bathers and running down to the river for a good two hours of swimming before dinner.
Just as an FYI, you should know that this post is sponsored by The Gramping Association proudly powered by Aerogard and Mortein. But all opinions expressed by the author are 100% authentic and written in their own words.
As good as that was though, the summer holidays were the best. Dad would take a week off work and we would load up his old ute and head down to the river for a week away from the world.
This was no modern style of camping. There was no generator for the TV and electric fry pan. Our crude cooking appliances consisted of a fire and a small portable BBQ. Every couple of days Dad would have to drive into town to refresh the ice in the esky. The loo was a hole in the ground with a roll of toilet paper sitting on top of a used baked bean can. As the years went on we got really advanced and dad put a stool with an old toilet seat on it over the hole. We bathed in the river, never realising quite how ridiculous it was to wash our hair of a morning, then spend the entire day swimming and knee boarding behind the ’74 Merlin.
Anybody who knows the Murray, knows the futility of putting a fishing rod in. Yet every day we would get Dad to bait our lines and we’d listen and watch for any sign that a fish may have decided to have a nibble.
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If only my grandfather was a bit fitter. Then I could be all three generations in the one camping trip!