My husband grew up camping with his family. It’s where he honed his deep-seeded love for old Volkswagen Vanagons, making ground beef “hobo” meals around a small fire, and anything that has to do with the outdoors. He continued this tradition up until the week he left for college, camping at nearby Grayson Highlands with his mom, dad, and older brother Jason. By that point, he’d already met me. I think he knew this was going to be his last camping adventure for quite a while, and he was correct! You see, I didn’t come from a family of campers. Sure, we lived a quarter-mile off the road, had a home flanked on both sides by cornfields and creeks, and spent all our days outdoors. Yet, when the sun set and the bats came out, my
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