Maybe I am the Camper Type

In July 2026, I joined one of my best sistar friends for a night of camping on the North Shore at Malaekahana State Recreation Area. I have always loved the idea of camping — being out in nature, breathing fresh air, sitting around campfires. It definitely appeals to my hippie-crunchy side.

The problem comes with the reality of it all: figuring out where to go potty, how to bathe, cook, set up tents, and fend off the less-fun parts of nature. That’s when my bougie side pipes up, saying, “Wait, we’re doing what?” Especially when I also have to manage my three equally hippie-crunchy/bougie children.

My Army veteran husband likes to say we should “embrace the suck,” and while I’m working on that, I’ll admit my instinct is to grit my teeth and stifle a resounding “Nope, I’m just not doing it.” Instead, I force a kind of cheerfulness and patience, no matter whether my kids respond to the inevitable discomforts with unvarnished disgust or pure glee. Still, I pushed forward, because I wanted to see for myself if I could do this. The idea of it really did sound like fun.

I had planned to buy a tent, but the one I wanted wouldn’t arrive in time for the day we were supposed to camp with my friend Nicole. So I borrowed one from a good friend instead. My husband made it clear he had no intention of joining us — he says he did enough camping in Iraq for the rest of his life, so I didn’t push it. He did, however, do an amazing job making sure we had everything we needed. My husband is top-tier when it comes to preparation.

On the day we were supposed to meet at the campsite, I spent hours loading the car, getting groceries delivered, and making sure I had everything I could think of to make the experience pleasant. I drive a Honda Odyssey, and I love that van. I’ve never been one of those folks who finds a van embarrassing or unappealing. What could be more appealing than a car that holds the people you love comfortably, totes myriad items, and has seating you can rearrange whenever you like? But I digress.

I promised myself I’d get to the site early and have plenty of time to set up before it got dark and the gates closed. By noon, though, I’d made peace with letting that dream go and prepared myself to deal with all the annoying setup tasks in the dark.

We arrived just at dusk. There was just enough light left to unload the car and — thanks to Nicole and her two kind boys — set up the tent. Nicole, rarely deterred by inconveniences, made a fire and prepared s’mores for the kids. Even though I don’t let them eat sweets much, this was one of those times when a sticky, chocolatey treat was almost necessary after such a full day.

The campsite was lovely. There was a large group camping not far from us, and their mirth and joy filled the air. There was a communal sink for dishwashing and food prep, and a bathroom with four toilets and an open shower area — no hot water, though. One of the toilets was backed up on our first night, but there was never a line, and the walk to the bathroom from our spot was about a minute, so not bad at all.

The entrance to the women’s bathroom faced the ocean. At night, the whispering waves were all you could hear. The music and fellowship from the nearby campsite almost swallowed the sound whole, but the gentle shush was still there if you wanted to listen for it.

The kids were awed by the depth and rich blackness of the horizon.

“It’s scary and nice at the same time.”

“Mommy, would you run out into that blackness? I kind of want to go running into it, and then I don’t.”

I smiled at this — they were giving voice to my very same thoughts, both cowed and intrigued by that midnight horizon inviting us to explore its mystery as we padded along the sandy concrete sidewalk near the restroom.

I relished the relief of sleep. I looked forward to hearing that quiet shushing of the ocean as I drifted off in the tent. After the s’mores and ghost stories (thanks, Auntie Nicole), that is exactly what we did. My kids and I all slept together, cuddled on the air mattress. Eventually, I had to move to the cot we’d brought because there just wasn’t enough room for me to sleep comfortably.

The next morning, everyone woke early. I had brought a tent to sleep in and a second tent to use as a kitchen shelter — it had netting, which kept the flies at bay while we prepped and cooked. It turned out to be a brilliant move and made the food experience much more pleasant.

Nicole brought a small gas stove and used it to make breakfast: mochi pancakes, which were delicious. While she cooked, the kids and I played a board game called Seven Wonders, one of the many complicated card-drafting games my daughter Sahara loves. Ade and Amari, basically teenagers, played well and laughed along. Even my littlest, Zuri, was in on the game.

After eating and cleanup, we hit the beach — gorgeous, as expected. The waves were mischievous and strong, so my kids and I stayed close to shore. Ade and Amari were more daring, their grins and laughter ringing out along with the waves further offshore.

I took a moment to savor it — the sweetness of being on a beautiful Hawaiian beach with one of my best friends and all of our children. It felt like a dream.

That night was full of more playing, more laughing, more soaking it all in. Even the discomfort of washing my babies’ hair in ice-cold water in the public showers couldn’t dampen the joy. We had veggie burgers for dinner and s’mores again for dessert.

The next morning, we packed up and headed home, with a bit of sadness. We were all grateful for that brief time to just enjoy each other’s company.

After that experience, I feel less daunted by the notion of camping. It’s still a big undertaking, but definitely worth the effort. The bathrooms were decent, the tent wasn’t a nightmare to set up, the food prep was lovely, and the company was unmatched.