Marshmallow memories

Marshmallows and beards do not go well together.

I re-learned this lesson the hard way Friday night as we were sitting around a campfire at Mondeaux’s West Point campground attempting, without much success, to roast some marshmallows over the red-hot coals of our fire.

The ideal way of eating marshmallows is to allow the outside to get toasty brown and then gently slide off the cooked layer leaving the still-firm layer beneath. Depending on the skill levels of the marshmallow cook, this process can be done several times before the marshmallow has been fully consumed.

I understand and tolerate that there are those who prefer their marshmallows sandwiched in graham crackers and chocolate. I pray for these misguided individuals every chance that I get, hoping that one day they will see the errors of their ways.

As one of eight kids growing up, camping was one of the few affordable vacation trips we could take. I have many fond memories of the smell of the thick brown canvass tent and remember every summer my dad spraying it with the insanely flammable water repellent. Even during years where money was even tighter than normal and we couldn’t go camping as a family, we would set up the pop-up camper in our wooded backyard and camp out there for weeks on end.

While campfires were common, marshmallows were a special treat and were carefully rationed out to us kids so we made sure to savor and make the most of them.

I was disappointed on Friday that the marshmallows were less than ideal. The lack of success stemmed primarily from the marshmallows wanting to melt rather than becoming golden brown and delicious. I suspect there has been a change in formulation that they snuck in hoping no one would notice.

Many marshmallows were sacrificed to the flames Friday night and the others turned into blobs of semimolten white goo. It seemed that the marshmallows’ main goal was to make my beard a sticky mess.

Yes, my wife took pictures. No, I am not going to share them with you.

I had talked my family into going camping as a special Father’s Day getaway for me. Saturday marked one year since my mom died. My brothers and sisters were gathering for a delayed Thanksgiving dinner at our childhood home and to toast her memory.

Being unable to head to New Jersey to join them, I instead headed to the woods with my family to try to make some of our own memories, even with defective marshmallows.

Adding to the memories this time was that we were finally getting a chance to try out the Camping Cube tent that I got last year for a Father’s Day present, but never got a chance to use in 2020. The cube fits inside a standard EZ Up Shelter which made set up a breeze for me and Alex.

As my kids get older, my hope is to try and downsize from our camper to make going on shorter weekend trips easier for me and my wife. Judging by the less than stellar experience of attempting to sleeping on the cots I got earlier this spring, I am beginning to suspect that roughing it in the future might be finding motels that are located on wooded lots.

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American society makes a big deal about birthdays when it comes to determining if someone is an adult. At 18 you can vote and serve in the military at 21 you can take a drink. At 25 you can rent a car at a major airport.

All of these are somewhat arbitrary dates that can and have been changed over the years. Real adulthood is something that sneaks up on you and hits you over the head. It is times when you start paying attention to school budgets because it impacts your kid’s classrooms and teachers or when you start grumbling about paying your own property taxes.

I was reminded of this on Monday when I saw a social media post of my niece, Joyce which stated: “Being an adult means being incredibly excited that the township is repaving to fill giant potholes instead of just filling them with gravel for the 1000th time.”

It went on with a note to her husband to try and contain his excitement on his way home from work. As someone who has been a grown up for a few years, I agree that a freshly paved road is still something to get excited about.

Brian Wilson is News Editor at The Star News.