Which begs the question: is living without coffee really living?

And zip it you, handy-dandy, super campers out there who probably pack french presses or super cowboy coffee contraptions. Somewhere between the swimmies, the contact solution and the bedding I forgot to consider coffee. So as I endured spiders bigger than mini-coopers, middle-of-the-night-drunks-who created piercing auditory vomit for 6 consecutive hours between bedtime and beyond, and tried ineffectively to keep pine needles, sand and dog hair from afixing themselves permanently to the diaper rash afflicted parts of the girls, I dreamt of coffee. Hot, strong, made-by-somebody-else-and-consumed-in-civilization coffee.

Looking at this now I don’t think you can truly see how desperately we needed the coffee. I should have taken it before pulling into the hallowed grounds of Starbucks.

You also cannot adequately see the tremors of joy here.

It was good. Real good. Almost good enough to make me go camping more than once every 12 months…almost.