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We are a party of four, two busy men and their wives. When vacation time comes these men long for a real outing, free from care by woods and streams. We have camped two weeks every summer for three years now and have learned what is needed for comfort on such an expedition.
We ride in a five passenger car.
Behind this and attached securely to it by bolts is a trailer, a strong two wheeled cart. In the trailer is packed our camping outfit. This outfit was bought, complete, at a sporting goods establishment and we have used it on every trip. It has a waterproof tent, which is really three tents in one, with a sleeping apartment at each end and a kitchen in between. There is also a small detached tent. Included is a cloth floor covering and the furniture, which consists of four cots, two chairs, two tables, two washstands, and two pails, and every one of these pieces is collapsible. Last year we added a collapsible bath-tub. With these furnishings, we do not "rough it," but are quite luxurious. For each cot is carried a blanket and sheets.
Into the cart also goes a can of kerosene, a supply of dry groceries, matches, canned goods, fishing tackle, and our cooking utensils, compactly fitted into a covered basket. We have two short-handled frying pans, two covered basins, four enameled ware cups and saucers, four plates of the same ware, two platters, a long handled fork and spoon and two sharp paring knives; also table knives, forks and spoons, and dish towels. The first summer we had planned only for outdoor cooking, but now we carry two small oil stoves and find them very convenient for cooking and for heating water. When the trailer is packed it is entirely covered with a waterproof cover, corded down. Any overflow of supplies comes into the car with us.
We take the simplest of personal belongings. Each wife wears her oldest suit and packs one thick waist and one thin one, one cotton dress, one all-over apron, cotton crepe underwear, a raincoat, and rubbers. She also carries a book or two for a rainy day and a bit of crocheting or fancy work.
We camp for a night or two en route before we reach the far off spot where our longest stay is to be. As we pass through the last village on the way, we gather a supply of bread, fruit, or whatever is tempting in the food line, then on we go until we find a wooded place where the water is pure, the fishing promising, and there are boats for hire. There the tents are pitched.
We make an early call upon our nearest farmer neighbors and have invariably found them kind and obliging. Of them we buy chickens, butter, milk, eggs, the sweetest of green corn, fresh vegetables and ice. Our ice house is made by digging a hole in the earth and dropping the ice in. It is covered with canvas to keep out the warmth and the milk and butter are placed on it and the whole covered again.
When these things are accomplished —and it really takes us a very little while to establish ourselves—the real camp life begins. The joy of it makes it worth while. We spend hours on the lake, watching the changing lights on sky and hills; we fish, explore, take pictures, and study plants, birds, and squirrels. Nowhere does food taste so good, are fish and chickens so fresh, or bacon and potatoes just the right brown.
The latest achievement was made by the husbands when they attached a wire to our automobile batteries and at night an electric light bulb twinkled overhead in our center tent.
As to the locality, we have found the lakes and woods of Maine and Vermont delightful, but doubtless in all states there are places equally attractive and accessible to campers.

October 1916 Issue of The Outing