(c) 2009 Lydia Hinshaw
One of our nicer weekend neighborsTITUSVILLE, FL -- No sweat didn't mean no problem on our most recent camping weekend.
The weather was about 20 degrees cooler than last weekend, excellent for sleeping out of doors -- if sleeping was to be possible at all.
We spent Saturday night at Manatee Hammock, a Brevard County Park on the Indian River a few miles south of downtown Titusville.
It was pleasant and peaceful through the afternoon and early evening. I was about to doze off in the upper berth of our Volkswagen pop-top. It was full dark at 8:23 p.m. What could possibly go wrong?
Suddenly, there were children swarming all over the previously unoccupied campsite next door.
I believe there were only four children -- they only sounded like 30. In charge was a young man in his 30s, the father of some or all of the kids.
For the next three hours Prince Charming and I endured a noisy family drama than ended when we gently lowered the pop-top and drove to another part of the campground.
First the young father turned a radio up loud. Then he shouted over it to the kids, off and on, for 90 minutes while he set up camp and rigged fishing gear. At 10 p.m., the campground security guard arrived and made him turn off the music. Quiet hours were officially underway.
Every campground I've ever visited has had quiet hours. Apparently this family had never camped before and the idea of being quiet so others could sleep was a concept they simply couldn't grasp.
At least twice, the young father turned on the radio again. The second time, he left it playing while he wandered off to the fishing pier. The kids came and went, always with much shouting. Their dad told them they could stay up all night if they wanted. It was clear that was what they intended to do, and they did not intend to spend these wakeful hours in quiet contemplation.
By 10:30, the young father was seriously drunk. Escalating from obnoxious to reckless, he twice started fires on the ground just a few feet upwind from the family tent. The breeze pushed blazing embers toward the flammable nylon where his children were hanging out. And toward our new van.
Campground security showed up and made him put the fires out. There are no fire rings or grills at this campground; you must bring your own grill or burn barrel. The young man was angry at that. He'd bought firewood in the camp store and no one had told him he couldn't build a fire just anywhere.
By this time it was 11:40 and the campground security guy, sympathetic to our situation, had told us we were free to move to any available campsite.
As we prepared to leave, the young father came over to explain that all he was trying to do was enjoyed the evening, and now he finds he can't play his radio and he can't have a fire. Then he accused us of being rude.
We found a new campsite in an area, reserved for long-term winter residents. All of our new neighbors' RVs were dark and silent.
I raised the pop-top again as quietly as possible. It was, after all, an excellent night for sleeping.
The weather was about 20 degrees cooler than last weekend, excellent for sleeping out of doors -- if sleeping was to be possible at all.
We spent Saturday night at Manatee Hammock, a Brevard County Park on the Indian River a few miles south of downtown Titusville.
It was pleasant and peaceful through the afternoon and early evening. I was about to doze off in the upper berth of our Volkswagen pop-top. It was full dark at 8:23 p.m. What could possibly go wrong?
Suddenly, there were children swarming all over the previously unoccupied campsite next door.
I believe there were only four children -- they only sounded like 30. In charge was a young man in his 30s, the father of some or all of the kids.
For the next three hours Prince Charming and I endured a noisy family drama than ended when we gently lowered the pop-top and drove to another part of the campground.
First the young father turned a radio up loud. Then he shouted over it to the kids, off and on, for 90 minutes while he set up camp and rigged fishing gear. At 10 p.m., the campground security guard arrived and made him turn off the music. Quiet hours were officially underway.
Every campground I've ever visited has had quiet hours. Apparently this family had never camped before and the idea of being quiet so others could sleep was a concept they simply couldn't grasp.
At least twice, the young father turned on the radio again. The second time, he left it playing while he wandered off to the fishing pier. The kids came and went, always with much shouting. Their dad told them they could stay up all night if they wanted. It was clear that was what they intended to do, and they did not intend to spend these wakeful hours in quiet contemplation.
By 10:30, the young father was seriously drunk. Escalating from obnoxious to reckless, he twice started fires on the ground just a few feet upwind from the family tent. The breeze pushed blazing embers toward the flammable nylon where his children were hanging out. And toward our new van.
Campground security showed up and made him put the fires out. There are no fire rings or grills at this campground; you must bring your own grill or burn barrel. The young man was angry at that. He'd bought firewood in the camp store and no one had told him he couldn't build a fire just anywhere.
By this time it was 11:40 and the campground security guy, sympathetic to our situation, had told us we were free to move to any available campsite.
As we prepared to leave, the young father came over to explain that all he was trying to do was enjoyed the evening, and now he finds he can't play his radio and he can't have a fire. Then he accused us of being rude.
We found a new campsite in an area, reserved for long-term winter residents. All of our new neighbors' RVs were dark and silent.
I raised the pop-top again as quietly as possible. It was, after all, an excellent night for sleeping.
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