Kamping with a K

Kamping at KOA (Kampgrounds of America) is as much like real camping as krabmeat is like real crab. I love krabmeat, it's a lot of fun, but somehow not as authentic as the real thing. Instead of wilderness, our kampground was bordered by suburban houses, cheap motels, and a train track (a freight train drove by periodically).

Though it wasn't exactly Algonquin Park, we had a blast. My parents stayed with my nephew in one tent, with my little family of four in another. Jadzia slept like a dream in the playpen, while William cozied in between Adam and I. Our ease in getting William to sleep may have had something to do with us keeping him up past ten, roasting marshmallows by the fire. I doubt we could have gotten him to bed earlier, though, not with his favourite person in the world along. No, not me, I was talking about his cousin Hunter.

In lieu of hiking and stargazing, we swam in an indoor pool, played in a playground, took a wagon ride and sang karaoke. (Of course I sang the most, but Hunter sang too and now I've got him hooked). Hunter also road a rented big wheel bike and jumped on a giant bouncy pillow. William collected rocks. I think we could take him any place that had a gravel road and he would be happy.