Camping Through My Daughter’s Eyes
S’mores, Tents, and some 5-year-old Wisdom
Photo by Andreas Rønningen on Unsplash
My daughter and I were sitting by the campfire, waiting for dinner to cook. It was our first camping trip of the year and we were both really happy to be there. The grasp of winter had finally loosened and it was starting to feel more like spring. There was an energy in the air.
She looked around at the other campsites — lined with RVs and pop-up campers — and then turned to me:
“These people aren’t really camping, are they?”
I laughed. “Why do you think that?”
“No one’s outside,” she said. “They’re all in their campers.”
I looked around and she was right. Minus the occasional passerby needing to use the facilities, it was quiet. And it made me pause: what did she really mean by that?
In her mind, camping wasn’t just about where you slept — it was about how you spent your time. Being outside. Sitting around the fire. Talking, laughing, exploring. Disconnecting from everything else and being together. Her question seemed to be less about tents versus campers, and more about noticing who was actually out there in the open, sharing the experience.
It was one of those small, matter‑of‑fact comments from a child that sticks with you.
I’ve always loved camping.
As a child, it meant tents, campfires, stars, and long days outside. That said, my parents weren’t big campers — I only remember going a handful of times — but I enjoyed every opportunity. Those trips always felt special.
As a young adult, I mostly camped with a close group of friends. And I loved those adventures. But over the years, those trips became fewer and farther between. It made sense — we were getting married, focusing on careers, starting families. Life was happening, and it was busy.
Last year, though, something nudged me back. More than anything, it was the desire to share my love of the outdoors with my daughter. I wanted her to feel the magic of being outside — the smell of a campfire, the darkness of the night, the quiet of the morning. I wanted to give her the opportunity to learn this part of life, and to really experience what it means to be out in nature.
So, I started taking her whenever I could. And guess what!? She loves it — being outside, sleeping in the tent, roasting s’mores. She is always all smiles. Vault toilets, though? Not so much. And you can’t really blame her…
And me? I’m remembering what I’d forgotten: going to bed when it’s dark, waking up with the sun, sitting still long enough for my thoughts to settle (and for her little observations to land).
Our lives can be chaotic — we have work, school, playdates with friends, swimming lessons — the list sometimes feels endless.
Camping has become our way to shut out the noise and connect with each other. It’s less about unplugging from technology (although that’s awfully nice), and more about consciously choosing something simple and slow. Something that allows us to make space for conversation, for questions like “what is real camping?”, for quiet.
And maybe that’s the best part: in showing her something I love, I found my own way back to it. Through her eyes.
Her question — what does it mean to really be camping? — keeps echoing for me. Because it isn’t about tents versus campers, it’s about being outside, together. Choosing the fire over the screen, the conversation over the distraction.
And maybe — just maybe — I’m planting a seed that will stay with her long after these trips are just stories we tell.