Through My Cooked Lens

How to camp with a toddler in endless rain, or maybe why you shouldn’t try

This past spring my husband, Cooper, and I headed out with my mom, stepdad, and two of my younger siblings for Memorial Day weekend at Tishomingo State Park. Early in the week the forecast showed a washout for Saturday, but by Friday my husband’s weather app claimed less than a 10 percent chance of rain. He was unconcerned. My stepdad told my mom it was going to pour all weekend, but she just shrugged and said she didn’t care. I, meanwhile, was blissfully unaware, too busy making sure I had everything a fourteen-month-old could possibly need to live in the woods for a couple of days.

We arrived Friday afternoon with two tent sites reserved. We set ours up on the tent pad while my mom’s crew picked a spot slightly off the pad—on top of some roots. My husband muttered that it might not work, but I was too busy toddler wrangling to notice. Dinner that night was tacos around the fire. My husband’s niece and nephew came over, Coop played, we laughed, made s’mores, showered, and went to bed happy. Coop was down by eight, and we followed around nine or ten.

At two in the morning the wind picked up, and I heard rain start slanting into the tent. I zipped up our windows and whispered a warning to my mom, hoping she heard. From then on, it rained. And it didn’t stop. By six, giggles and commotion came from my mom’s site. Their tent had standing water inside. The slope of the ground had gotten them, and even after moving the tent, water kept pooling. By mid-morning they were headed to Walmart to see if a new tent might save the weekend.

Back at camp, we tried to keep Coop entertained. He was basically trapped inside a six-by-eight mosquito tent with us while the rain poured. We finally loaded him into the truck and went searching for an open pavilion where he could run around, but no luck. By ten or eleven we had all admitted defeat. We took down both tents and packed up in the pouring rain.

When we got home the skies were bright and sunny—at least for thirty minutes. Then it rained again. We had to set our tent up inside the house so it could dry before molding. My mom and stepdad weren’t as lucky. Their poor, warped tent made its final trip straight to a dumpster.

Now, anytime the story comes up, we all just call it “the time it rained.” And the lesson we learned? If the forecast calls for rain on a camping trip with a toddler, maybe just go ahead and pack board games and snacks for the living room instead.