We just got back from spending a long weekend not-camping with our good friends. We rented a farmhouse in Ellicottville, New York, which is home to several ski resorts. We didn't visit any of them. It was terrific.
We spent the weekend eating ridiculous foods, drinking many beers, watching about a dozen movies from the huge selection we found in an armoire in the den, and, in my case, snuggling a baby who didn't really want to be held by anyone but me or occasionally Andy. The baby was a built-in backup escape plan for not having to go outside pretty much at all. Our friends trekked out with snowshoes to explore the acreage at the farmhouse, and I stayed in the den with the baby and the fireplace and Weekend at Bernie's and Encino Man and Crocodile Dundee.
Overall, it was a really restful, lovely weekend. Our friends are great cooks (as is Andy) and the Ellicottville Brewing Company (warning: sound!) was conveniently close for keeping us stocked with growlers of beer. (If you're there in the winter, try the EVL Blizzard.)
While we were roughing it in a farmhouse with actual beds and running water and a heating system, we discussed plans for camping this summer. It was made clear that I am very much invited but that they will understand if I opt out, which is very reassuring. I don't want to be a wet blanket while camping, but I also don't want my close friends to feel slighted if I don't go. So I get to consider at my leisure and either go or not, as I choose.
We brought the dogs this weekend, too, which meant our car was packed full of stuff for us, the baby, the dogs, and the elements. Our friends volunteered to take our cooler, since we didn't have room for it. The cooler is full of the makings of the fancy-ass cheese plate we never got around to making, since we were pretty much constantly eating something. Andy is out right now picking up the cooler from our friends' house so he can bring it back here and make me a delicious cheese plate. Could there be a more awesome end to an awesome weekend?