GAIL WHITE With rain and bears, I'm not a happy camper

"I am in the mood to go camping," I said to my sister as we stood in the kitchen, talking.
She looked out the window. "No wonder," she deadpanned. "It's cold and raining."
It is true. Cold and rain seem to follow our family every time we head out for a weekend of adventure.
I remember one summer -- I believe it was the summer of 1996 -- we were in the middle of a drought. It hadn't rained for two months! We packed up the tent and sleeping bags and headed for the wilderness.
After two hours, we were approaching our destination. As we passed the first brown road sign denoting a state park region, drops of rain began to fall on the windshield.
By the time we traveled the five miles to the campsite, the road was barely visible, water washing across it. The campsite was a mud hole -- no way to set up camp.
With the children bouncing off their seats, we drove home.
Yet, cold and rain aren't the only things that follow us. Bears do, too.
Helped himself: While camping in the Allegheny Forest, a bear visited our campsite one night and helped himself to the contents of our cooler. (The cooler has the claw marks to prove it!)
The next day, as we regaled the forest rangers with our story, every last one of them said, "No kidding? We haven't seen a bear all summer!"
One replied, "Oh, that pesky nuisance bear must be back."
Pesky and nuisance weren't exactly the words I chose to describe the beast.
I must admit, if someone had caught my husband and me on camera hiking that cooler into the back of the car in the middle of the night, we could have won an award for "Most Freaked-Out and Paranoid."
(Yes, the rangers told us that our food should have been hung from a tree and that putting it in the back of the car was our second mistake. Clearly, the Allegheny Forest is no place for amateurs!)
Along with cold, rain and bears, just plain bad luck follows us camping, too.
On the move: Once, on a really hot summer afternoon, we pulled into a campground, found a spot and set up the tent.
Setting up the tent is always a challenge for us. Complications and miscommunications run rampant. It is not a pretty sight to behold.
Finally, we got the thing up and were walking out from inside, sweat dripping from every pore (Where was the rain THAT day!), when a park ranger drove up and stopped.
"You can't camp here," he said. "This section is closed for the weekend."
We looked at him, dumbfounded.
He wasn't going to budge.
We took the tent down.
The boys and I stayed at a picnic table and ate while Pat drove around, trying to find a spot in an "open" section.
The boys were still cheery. I was not.
"Where are we, Mom?" Andrew asked.
I looked at him and, in one of my worst moments as a mother, I replied, "Hell on earth."
My children can't remember what I told them five minutes ago, but they remember me saying that.
We bought a pop-up camper a few years ago. I wish I could say that changed our luck.
But, as I recall, we started our camping season last year in a torrential downpour at Presque Isle and ended the season in sub-zero temperatures at the Kinzua Dam. The bears seem to be at bay, although we still seem to be the only ones who see them.
Ah, memories: I have informed my husband that I believe I may be more of a "condo woman."
He reminded me that we are creating memories for our children.
I wish I could flash forward 20 years, when they are grown. What will their memories entail?
Wonderful visions of swimming at the beach? Late night campfires? Card games at the picnic table?
Or will they just remember the rain, the cold, the bear and the weekend we spent in "Hell on earth"?