You Don't Have to Be Them, to Honor Them

I wasn’t ready for the kind of camping in the deep woods where you pack everything in, you have to filter your water, bring freeze-dried food, and find a somewhat flat spot on the side of a mountain with an acceptable number of rocks over which to place your tent and sleeping bags. That’s what our kids and I knew and were used to with Clinton. 

It feels like just last week when Clinton, in preparation for a trip with the kids, carried everything up from the storage room in the basement and laid it out on our living room floor. Whatever he decided they didn’t need for the trip stayed on the floor until everyone came back–wind-burned, invigorated, and always with a funny story about someone visiting Colorado from another country and asking whether or not he or she should be scared of the bears that no one had seen yet.

“The moose,” Clinton always told them, “Be more scared of the moose.” And then my family–my adventurous husband and kids- would laugh in the retelling, because almost always, the tourist said thank you before turning around and heading back to his or her car. 

What I was ready for was some good old-fashioned car camping: a big tent, bottles of water, a cooler full of food, the kayak, paddleboards–you name it. Whatever could fit in and on top of an SUV would be part of our car camping experience. We chose to go camping over the July 4th weekend, which seemed like a great way to be together and to celebrate one of Clinton’s favorite holidays.

Oh, the kayak and the kayak rack. First of all, if you’ve ever tried to hoist a kayak on top of a car with three children who, at the time, hadn’t quite hit the tall, weight-lifting years of invincible teenagery, getting the kayak secured is not an easy task. 

When we thought we had it secured and positioned correctly on top of the car, we traded who was on sunroof watch for any signs of the kayak trying to free itself while we headed north on the interstate. With a stop at the Fireworks store at the border of Colorado and Wyoming, I was feeling good about our little camping adventure without Clinton. 

Back on the road we went, and it wasn’t even five minutes after we’d left the edge of Cheyenne, when the kayak began its awkward wind-induced wiggle from out of its restrictive binds. Thankful for whichever child was on watch during that time, I pulled over to the shoulder, and we readjusted the security of our big, blue friend. 

Any confidence I had was short-lived, however, when our next lookout yelled in a panic for me to pull over, “Now!” The cars flew by us, oblivious to their role in the nightmare we were trying to avoid; the imagery of our prized kayak floating through speeding cars and trucks haunts me to this day. I do believe we pulled over two more times until we discovered what we were doing wrong. As it turns out, the kayak, while forward enough on top of the car, was not angled enough in the rack. We figured this out right before we arrived at our campground: a beautiful piece of meadow surrounded by sun-dappled cottonwood trees and a reservoir, which lapped against the shore nearby.

Cottonwoods are some of my favorite trees, except for when they are throwing cotton, and when you have children with seasonal allergies. As we set up the tent and looked around, it was hard to ignore that, save the one RV camper several hundred yards away, we were the only ones there. During a very popular summer weekend, somehow the campground was empty. As the cotton from the trees swirled above us and landed throughout the entirety of everything we packed, the kids excitedly got to paddleboarding, kayaking, and fishing. At the same time, I sorted the food for dinner under the cover of a towel. The wind was picking up, and cotton was everywhere. 

After a couple of hours on the water, we came in, hungry and thirsty. We kept our food free of the big trees’ gifts for the most part, and we settled into the tent to sleep, listening to the sounds of the night in the wide-open spaces around us. The wind and the owls lulled us into what should have been a restful slumber. That is, until the sneezing started, and then the nose blowing commenced. Both continued, all night long. 

The next morning, we went hiking on little to no sleep. Still sniffling and sneezing, we were energized by the water and beautiful views. We purchased some Benadryl from the campground store and threw in some marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate. It was the fourth of July, and we would celebrate Dad with some S’mores by the campfire later that night. I hoped we could hike somewhere high and view fireworks from a distance, too. I was excited.

Nature had other plans. Later that afternoon, we went out on the water again. This time, however, we were forced to call it in early as dark grey clouds turned day into night, and lightning danced in every direction around us. The storm was moving closer, and while we weren’t camped directly under a tree, the volume of rain that was about to descend upon our romanticized evening would have kept us tent-bound. We were now the only ones in the park. Did we want to stay inside the tent during a violent storm, or should we pack it up and head home? I didn’t want to leave. This was supposed to be fun. I was having fun!  

We could all sit in the car until the storm passed, right? Yes, that was a good idea. I stifled a series of sneezes as I looked at my now atopic kids and announced my plan. But their eyes were half-closed, and two out of the three were sleeping. I could have sworn I bought the non-drowsy version of Benadryl, but upon examining the box more closely, I was mistaken. 

“Let’s go home,” my only upright child pronounced. The other two woke up and outnumbered my vote to stay one more night. I was resigned.

  Groggily, we hoisted the kayak on top of the car in between strikes of lightning and the sounds of deep thunder. The storm was upon us by the time we rolled up the tent and stuffed it in the back of the car. Heavy, cold raindrops flooded our camping spot quickly as we drove away.

That night, we witnessed fireworks all along the front range as we drove back home in the dark. The interstate was ours, and each show of light explosions in the sky felt like they were just for us. The kayak stayed where it was supposed to this time (we didn’t have to stop once), and the kids and I savored the delicious snack of uncooked S’mores while we watched each magnificent light show from the road.