On Sunday night of Labor Day weekend, Maya sat down in her camp chair at the backyard fire pit and the chair kept going. One back leg folded under, the seat tipped sideways, and she landed in the grass holding a s'more over her head like a trophy. She didn't drop it. I was proud of that.
That chair was one of our original four, bought in December 2023, a few weeks after our first camping trip: two adult chairs and two kid chairs, about $15 each, with a cartoon dolphin printed on the cup holder. Maya was seven. She's ten now, and she'd been sitting with her knees up near her chin for about a year. We kept saying we'd replace it after the next trip. The chair made the decision for us.
What actually broke
When I flipped it over, the rivet where the back leg meets the cross brace had sheared clean off. To be fair to the chair, I'd noticed it wobbling in June at Vogel and "fixed" it with two zip ties, which held for exactly one summer. The seat fabric was split along one seam and had faded from blue to a tired gray after three years of Florida sun. It squeaked every time she leaned back. It had done its job.
What we looked at
On Labor Day morning we went to Academy with a list Maya had written, color-coded, of course. Her requirements:
- Feet flat on the ground when she sits all the way back.
- A cup holder, plus a side pocket big enough for her nature journal and pencil pouch.
- Light enough to carry from the Pilot to the fire herself.
- "Not babyish." This was underlined twice.
My list was shorter. It has to fold small enough to ride with the other three chairs, and it can't cost much, because she isn't done growing.
She sat in seven chairs. The bigger youth chairs, around $20, were already too short; her knees came up exactly like they did in the old one, and she'd be out of it by next summer. A low beach-style chair packed flat and looked fun, but at a fire pit it puts your face right in the smoke, and it's slow to get out of, which matters when there's a fire three feet away. The chairs with built-in side tables, rocking frames or padded arms ran $60 to $90 and were so bulky I couldn't picture where they'd go in a loaded Pilot.
She picked a plain adult quad chair, the kind that folds into a long bundle and slides into a carry bag. Green, with a mesh cup holder and a side pocket that fits the journal with room to spare. It was $34. Sitting in it in the aisle, she looked about four years older than she had in the dolphin chair. I noticed that and decided not to say it.
The tradeoffs
It isn't perfect. An adult seat is a little deep for her, so she sits on the front edge or tucks one leg under. The packed bundle is about a foot longer than the kid chair, which means the four chairs no longer stand up in a row behind the third row; one lies flat on top now. And it's heavier, though she carried it across the parking lot to prove she could, then carried it to the fire pit that night to prove it again.
The new argument was predictable. Nico, who turned seven three weeks ago, sat in Maya's chair, put his elbows on the armrests and announced that he also needs a grown-up chair. His kid chair is fine. It still fits him, every rivet is where it belongs, and the dolphin is his favorite part. I told him that when his knees reach his chin, we'll talk. He went straight to his own chair, pulled his knees up as high as they'd go and called me over to look.
The old chair went to the curb on Tuesday. Before it did, Nico cut the dolphin cup holder off with the kitchen scissors (permission granted after the fact) and added it to the shoebox where he keeps his best rocks and sticks. Maya's new chair bag has a label on it now, in her handwriting, color-coded to match her bin. It's the first grown-up piece of camp gear in the house with her name on it.
