Camping was good.

Perhaps I should say a bit more than that. Camping was mostly good. This was not wonderful, backcountry, no one around for miles camping. This was pull your car up to the site, pitch your tent, walk to the camp store if you forgot something camping.

But when you live in the woods anyway, sometimes it’s fun to go someplace that feels like a little tent city. We could walk down to the pond and swim in the morning. We could leave and go to the ocean in the afternoon. We could wander the mud flats in search of creatures as the tide went out, and look at diamondback terrapin nesting sites in the dunes.

The less fabulous parts involved vomiting, and children leaping into poison ivy thickets, and coming home.

But overall, it was good. Gray, but no rain. Chilly, but not unbearably so. And then there was that tour of the old whaler’s home we went on in search of information about whaling, only to receive a fine lecture on the evolution of the indoor toilet instead.

What’s not to love about vacations?