The "Fodge"

I went on a camping trip with my family when I was about 11. It was ................. interesting. Dad was so excited about the trip. He bought the tent, Coleman stove, lantern, sleeping bags for the whole family and the other various and sundry items needed for a successful camping trip. 

We actually caravaned part of the way with my Aunt Polly and Uncle Bill and their 3 kids. Two of their children were boys, and Aunt Polly's weapon of choice to maintain order in the station wagon was a fly swatter. This was in the 60's, so we pretty much went anywhere we wanted in the car, whether it was moving or not, so driving behind them was quite entertaining. Every 3 minutes, Aunt Polly was whacking on one of the boys with the fly swatter as they tried to escape over the seats. Full out, wind up for a home run swing swatting them. It was hilarious to watch through their back window. 

We were in our own car, packed to the gills and hoping for the best from this new adventure. I was sandwiched in the back seat with my two brothers while my parents held down the fort in front. It was a little more peaceful in our car, but not by much. We were of the "stop looking at me!" "that's MY window!" "mom, she's touching me!" "stop breathing my air!" crowd. Regularly, mom would turn around to yell over the verbal jousting. But when she focused her ire on a specific child, the others would hide their laughter behind their hands and point at the one who was getting it. Most of the time, we managed to do it without her seeing us, and compounded the agony of the one being scolded.

The camping trip turned out to be one from H-E-double hockey sticks. We nearly washed away when we camped by a creek in Utah, nearly blew away in the Badlands, and nearly froze no matter where we put down stakes. My brother snored, and one night I layed awake in my sleeping bag completely terrified all night because I was sure there was a bear outside the tent. 

My other brother felt any stress pretty acutely, and he really struggled with his stomach. I couldn't blame him. It was not a fun time. When the tent nearly blew away, and we had absolutely no light on a moonless night, we ended up in a cheap motel. Not sure if that was any better.

Anyway, the camping bug never really left my dad. He decided some type of camper would be a better way to go, so he and his brothers built one. He picked up a truck that was half dodge, and half Ford. I can't remember which half was which, but I do remember the conversations that centered around what it should be called. He ended up deciding that "Fodge" was the way to go. 

The truck was an old one and so the gypsy camper he built for it was the perfect choice. It had a curved roof and a cute door in the back, and my mother was mortified. It was NOT her idea of a camper. But dad was so happy, and I was pretty impressed by what he and his  brothers were able to turn out. I don't think he was ever able to finish the inside before being pressured to "get rid of that thing." He did hold on to the truck for quite awhile, though. 

I wish I had a picture. But maybe your mental images are pretty good. I haven't been camping since the early years of our marriage. And it was a lot of fun. Must be because we left the flyswatter at home.

Each of us is to please his neighbor for his good,

to his edification. Rom. 15:2