Prompt:  Write about a family who decides to camp out in the backyard during a power outage.

Disappointments in Glamping

by Sandra Moyle

It would be safe to say that the Stinsons were not the hardiest of families. They enjoyed immensely all the amenities their hard earned money could afford. Virtually everything in their house was connected to a remote electronic device which performed a service when prompted.

As he returned from work each day, Mr. Stinson would tell his car that the garage door needed to open, and that would happen for him, of course. Mrs. Stinson would tell the kitchen that she wanted coffee and her pre-prepped machine would automatically set to work. The children had grown accustomed to calling out to their electronic devices to answer any random questions that entered their young minds.  Even the Stinson’s dog, Kepi, had learned to bark at a device to receive a fresh splash of water in his bowl. The Stinsons had full control of their home and they fully expected it.

Of course, that control was cruelly wrenched from their grasps last September.  The family has since recovered from the terrible calamity that occurred that night, but they don't wish to talk about it. But I do. It was brilliant.

It isn't everyday that you witness your mildly annoying, new age neighbors face their comeuppance, and I am delighted to say that I didn't miss a beat of theirs.  I stayed hidden that night, of course, watching from the corner of my backyard porch in my slicker, holding my hands over my mouth to stop my laughter from coming out and revealing my spying.

From what I heard, the fiasco had been spurred by a challenge from the Stinson children's private school. White Oaks Academy had issued a back to school challenge for families to spend an adventure together in the interest of family bonding and also for the opportunity for journaling as part of the children's writing curriculum. Mrs. Stinson told me all about it. While there were a number of activity choices from which to choose, the Stinsons had opted for an overnight backyard camping adventure and set themselves down to the task of doing it better than any other family in the school.

I watched with interest over the following days when Mrs. Stinson would return from her shopping trips. I would lean on my rake from where I was gathering leaves and wave hello to her as she scurried into the house with bags full of patio lights, sleeping bags, and whatnot. One day, she proudly showed me her espresso coffee machine, camping edition, so that she could be ensured of a fresh, steaming espresso on the morning of her overnight backyard camping adventure.

“It has a cord,” I said, surprised.

“Oh, yes. It plugs into the generator,” she told me, pleased to let me know she'd thought of that.

“I see,” was all I could think to say and she happily left me then to head back into her house. I heard her say “open door” since her hands were full and couldn't operate the door latch. I wondered if the Stinsons owned a generator or knew how to operate it.

Both questions were answered later that evening when Mr. Stinson greeted a delivery truck in his driveway and signed for an enormous generator which he had the worker wheel into the garage. He smiled and waved at me. I noticed he had tucked under his arm the manual to his new generator. He was headed to his back veranda which I knew to be his favorite reading spot. I was absolutely sure that Larry Stinson had never owned a generator before.

I went in for my tea and told Eadith, my wife, that Larry Stinson was reading up on generators.  “He'll be an expert soon,”  I informed her.

Eadith set down her knitting and gave me a stern look.  “Oswald Jones, leave that poor man alone. You’ve got better things to do with your time than be spying on the activities of our neighbors.”

“I do?” I questioned, as I plopped down in my armchair and reached for my tea.

“Yes, like figuring out what’s wrong with our TV, for instance,” she grumbled as she continued to knit.  “I’ve missed three football games this month and I’m not wanting to miss another.”

I rolled my eyes heavenward and pulled back the curtain beside me to peer at Mr. Stinson. He was drinking his glass of wine and reading up on generators while his children played in the late September sun.  “Oswald!” said Eadith and I let the curtain drop back into place.

The following day, I noticed Larry Stinson hauling out a raised platform to the backyard. He told me it was for the generator to sit on. I was surprised to see that he owned a dolly cart, or perhaps had borrowed one from somewhere, because he wheeled out his generator and placed it on top of the platform in a manner that almost made me think he knew what he was doing.  Most generators already came with wheels, but perhaps this one was too big? Next came the canopy for the generator and its surrounding shelter.  “In case it rains, “ he told me.

I nodded in agreement.  “Don’t forget to cover the children too.”

He laughed, “That’s what the tent is for.  It should be delivered tonight.”

“You know, some people go camping without requiring electricity.”

His eyes narrowed briefly and then he gave a lopsided smile.  “Some people don’t put in Netflix as a required condition before agreeing to go camping.”

“The kids asked for Netflix?”

“No, Lisa did,” he said and the conversation sort of just ended there.

Finally, the big night arrived, and I was keen on watching. The forecast called for rain and wind, and I was excited for my Friday night entertainment to begin.

Not long after all the Stinsons returned home, they began their parade to the glowing orange inflatable tent they had anchored to the ground near the big apple tree in the backyard. Each child had their arms full of backpacks and stuffed animals. Naturally, they also had their computer tablets tucked neatly under their armpits. Really roughing it.

Mrs. Stinson was dressed “adorably”, my daughter, Karen, told me. She had stopped in for a visit and was peering out the window with me.  “I would love to know how much she paid for those skinny jeans,” she told me.

After watching Larry Stinson struggle for 20 minutes or more while trying to light a campfire, I couldn’t stop myself from heading over to their campsite with my hand held torch. Larry started to protest as he put together my intentions, but I ignored him and lit the fire. The kids and Lisa whooped delightedly and Larry thanked me. I promised myself I would leave them alone after that.

Ok, so I left them alone, but I kept an eye on them all the same. The  S’mores seemed to go well until someone knocked them off a table and the dog started gobbling them down.  That caused quite a stir since Mrs. Stinson was yelling something about chocolate being toxic to dogs. I hadn’t known that. It wasn’t long after that that ole Kepi puked up the S’mores on Mrs. Stinson’s skinny jeans and she ran for the house.

Whilst this was going on, Mr. Stinson struggled to get the generator started since the kids wanted to watch Netflix on the big outdoor screen they had set up. I looked dubiously at the foiled container of, presumably, popcorn sitting on a grate on the campfire and wondered how well it would be supervised. Larry had the manual out with a flashlight, reading the text, since by that time we were losing daylight.  

“Where’s your mother?” I heard him ask.  “She’s been gone for a long time.”  Probably enjoying a warm shower and tea by now, I thought. That’s what I would have done. I sighed and reflected that I should go help him with that generator. I started to rise from my seat.

“Never you mind.”  I heard Eadith say from behind me. “Give the man some dignity and let him figure out that generator on his own.” Forty-five years with the same woman only meant that you could not form a single thought without it being regulated by your wife.

I watched Mr. Stinson toss the manual down in disgust and rub a hand over his eyes.  “Kids, go get your mother, please.”

“I think she’s hiding out,” said his little girl, but she ran obediently to the house to find her mother.

“Dad …” said the boy.  “I think the popcorn’s about to explode.”

Indeed, the foil containing the kernels had ballooned to maximum capacity and a series of popping sounds could be heard. Some of the kernels had managed to escape the foil and sail through the air. The dog was excitedly taking advantage of more free food.  I thought it smelled burned, and it was. In fact, the popcorn  was on fire, by the looks of it.  Mr. Stinson ran for the garden hose and paused.  “Just let it burn, Jack,” he said.  “We lost this one. It’s fine, we have bags of chips still in the tent.”

The little girl had returned to the campsite.  “Mom says she’ll be out soon,” she told them.  “What smells?”

Mr. Stinson didn’t seem to hear her. He was rummaging through his garden shed and pulled out a long, yellow extension cord.

“What are you doing, Dad?” they both asked at once.

“Power. I need power and we’re going to have it. We will have Netflix, we will have heat and Lisa will have Espresso in the morning. This is how the Stinsons go camping.”

The children watched in silence as their father plugged the extension cord into the house and went about bringing power to the projector and screen. A lovely set of patio lights fringing the roof of the tent lit up soon after that.

Eadith sat down beside me on the porch, careful to stay out of sight.  “Glamping,” she whispered.

“What?”

“Glamping,” she said slowly, maintaining a hushed voice.  “It’s what they call camping with all the luxuries.”

“Ah,” I said. 

Halfway through their Netflix movie, the power went out. The wind had been picking up, so I figured that a tree had probably been blown over a power line. The Stinsons were in blackness and I heard the kids moan in disappointment. I could hear Eadith inside our house moving about with a flashlight and finding “flameless” battery operated candles. The Stinsons were arguing about going back inside their house.

“We’re cold, Dad!”

“Don’t we have more than one flashlight?”

“Where did Mom go, again?”

“Jack, you're stepping on my foot!”

“Dad, it’s starting to rain!”

It had, indeed, started to rain, and I was glad I had dressed warm and brought my slicker. Fat raindrops were striking my face and I pulled up my hood with a peak. I sipped the warm jug of tea that Eadith had brought me.

The Stinsons were crawling into a tent that was trying its best to weather the wind and rain.  I could hear it flapping and hoped that Larry had secured the pegs properly to keep the tent from flying away with his family. The dog began whimpering and then howling until Mr. Stinson headed back to the house to put the dog inside. He must have found his wife at that point because he brought her back to the tent with him and she was complaining the entire way.

“Oswald,” said Eadith from the doorway.  “Come to bed.”

“The best is yet to come!”  I said, patting her empty seat beside me.  “That tent is going to fly over in this wind, I just know it. And they’re all inside of it!”

She squinted, looking towards the Stinson yard.  “I can’t see a thing, Ozzie.”

“Just wait!”

“You’re a rascal.”

A strong gust of wind came, sure enough, and we heard their exclamations from within the tent.

“Larry, the tent is coming off the ground!”

“Do you think I don’t know that?!”

“Do something!”

“Kids, everybody, roll to this side to keep the tent on the ground.”

“That’s the best you’ve got?!”

The wind was getting stronger and, combined with the rain, it was getting harder to hear them.  I thought about moving closer, but I wasn’t that keen on getting wet. My entertainment might have ended right there, except … a sudden bolt of lightning lit up the sky and I could make out the silhouettes of two tiny figures crawling across the grass toward the house.

“Kids! Get back here! It’s just a little weather. It will blow over.”

“Going inside, Dad,” the boy yelled back. “This party is over.”

“Where’s your mother?!”

“Already inside, “ called the girl.  “Come on Daddy!”

I heard nothing after that, other than the door closing for a final time. I assumed that it was Larry, giving up atlast and joining his family. I smiled, pleased with my Friday night entertainment. I found my way to bed as well, grateful to Eadith for her Dollar Store flameless candles that lit the way for me.

The power had returned by morning and I brought my coffee out to the back porch to survey the damage from last night’s storm. I was surprised to see the Stinsons sitting out by their tent, possibly making breakfast off an old Coleman stove.

“Good morning, Mr. Jones!” Lisa Stinson smiled and waved.  “Would you like an espresso?”

I lifted my own cup to show her my coffee. “Already set up, here, thank you.  Hey, you picked a heck of a night to spend in a tent. That was quite a storm.”  I tried my best to look innocent. The kids exchanged glances, but said nothing.

“Oh, I know, right?”  Mr. Stinson piped in.  “We got a little wet and sore, but we made it through okay.”  He smiled, and ruffled his children’s hair. Mrs. Stinson smiled sweetly from her camp chair.

I took a sip of my coffee.  “It didn’t bother you, sleeping with that tree branch sitting on half of it?”

All four looked over at their tent, half caved in by a small branch that had landed on it.  “Oh, that,” said Larry with a dismissive wave of his hand.  “That was nothing for the Stinsons.”

I nodded.  “What happened to the generator last night?  I didn’t hear it.”

“Not really sure,” Larry said.  “I think I got one that’s defective. I have to call the company today.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Be my guest.”

I lifted the cover off the generator, peered around and saw the problem. A flick of a switch and I soon had it purring like a kitten, or roaring like a lion, you might say. I’ve never met a quiet generator.

“What?  How??”  poor Larry looked flabbergasted.

“Breaker switch,”  I told him. I took another sip of my coffee.

He looked more bewildered than embarrassed. “Huh,” was all he said.

“Enjoy your breakfast,”  I told them, and began heading back to my house. Larry caught up with me.

“Oswald, wait,” he said. “Thanks for the help with the generator. I was obviously in way over my head with this camping business. Also, we didn’t actually sleep in the tent … we spent the night in our living room huddled under blankets and telling ghost stories by flashlight. It was fun.”

I stopped and smiled at him.  “Glamping,” I said.

“Sorry, what?”

“Glamping,” I repeated.  “I believe it’s called Glamping. What you did last night.”  I gave him a wink.

“Glamping,” he repeated with a smile. “Yes, I have heard of that.”

I chuckled as I climbed the back steps to find Eadith at the stove, making our breakfast. I put my arms around her waist and gave her a peck on the cheek.  “ Who needs Netflix when we have the Stinsons?” I asked.

“I’d rather watch my football,” she grumbled, but she was smiling too.