Life is Better in Hiking Boots - Part 2
The Fam on the big trip out west - 1969
And at the end of the day your feet should be dirty, your hair messy and your eyes sparkling.
-Shanti
My Dad is shaking me awake. It’s 4 am. He is whispering, “It’s time to go Laurie. Go sit out on the couch while your Mom and I finish up packing.” My Mom is making our beds as we each climb out and head for the living room couch. The four of us are lined up in a row, in our jammies, our eyes half closed, listening to the activity of my Mom and Dad as they finish the last of the preparations. They walk us out to the old blue station wagon where they have put all the seats flat and laid out our four sleeping bags. We each climb into a bag and try to get back to sleep. My Mom and Dad check the trailer lights one last time and then join us in the car. I can hear my Mom rustle the map as she gets her bearings and prepares to navigate. Mom and Dad are whispering so as to encourage us to sleep as they try to get a jump on the day. My eyes are closed but my mind is still taking in the activity in the front seat. It’s dark and I can feel the car switch from the side roads to the freeway. Once on the freeway I hear my Mom dig out the thermos. I can smell the coffee as she pours my Dad a cup and hands it to him. I crack my eyes open to look at them and can see the steam rise up from the coffee cup. Then she pours herself a cup and they become silent. That’s when I feel my siblings settle down and myself fall into a blissful sleep. A few hours later we all are stirring and taking our time sitting up and watching out the window as the scenery slides by. Before long we pull into a rest area. We take our clothes and run into the bathrooms to change while my Mom sets up breakfast at one of the picnic tables. It’s usually the cereals in small individual cereal boxes or on special vacations a dozen donuts. We are awake enough now for our excitement to show and thrilled that while we were asleep we have already covered 300 miles! Whether it was a short trip to Ludington, Michigan or a long trip to California or Florida, the road trip always started the same. Always in the wee hours of the morning. Our two week annual camping vacation had begun.
Once we get to the campground, we spend a good amount of time picking out just the right campsight. To get all six of us to agree was nearly impossible so my Dad would have the final vote. We were not allowed to play until camp was set up so as soon as my Dad got the trailer backed in the mad rush to set up camp would begin. Beth and Ann would go get the water jugs filled. Dave and I would start unloading the car and Mom and Dad would start opening up the pop up trailer. Wood would be gathered for the nightly fire, and the tablecloth thrown over the picnic table. Sleeping bags would be unrolled and food unpacked. And then it would be time for my Dad to find the perfect tree to hang our rope for a rope swing. Before long we were settled into our camping routine. Two weeks of living outside, camp food, new friends, hiking, biking, canoeing, the smell and crackle of campfires, toasted marshmallows, scary sounds in the night, climbing dunes, swimming in lakes, running through woods, rainstorms, raccoons in our garbage. Two weeks of unbridled play, forbidden snacks, and my Mom and Dad at their relaxed best. As each day came to an end I would bask in the feeling of being outside all day, the wind blown, tangled hair, the dirt in every pore, the sand in my shoes, the freshness in my lungs.
I don’t need therapy, I just need to go camping.