On to New Mexico, a day of rest! by Shelley Hopkins

New Mexico, Part 4 of Trip out West.

This is the third part of a series that describes a trip we took several years ago.  If you have not read the first part, click here.

Albuquerque, the old town

We woke in the morning to more of the strong winds.  I peeked out of my sleeping bag to see three pairs of legs sticking out from under the tent fold. The wind stopped and the tent sat back up.  I was relieved to see living, giggling children.  I had fallen asleep at some point during the night while holding back the wind, and woke up curled up in a ball in the very middle of the floor.  Even in my sleep I am claustrophobic.

Climbing out of the tent we found everything to be wet.  The picnic table, the grounds, the tent, all was wet.   We had to pack up and keep moving, but I knew we would need to let our things dry at the end of the day.  No one wanted to cook or eat breakfast in the damp, Joseph had a cold, and I was feeling like a bad mother, dragging everyone across the country exposed to the weather.  We packed up and drove over to a local Denny’s.  Sitting at tables and booths all around us were other campers from the KOA.  We all seemed to want to dry out with warm food and coffee.  After breakfast we were laughing and joking at the wind and rain.  Damp and moldy as we were, we were survivors. 
We hopped back into the car and began the drive towards Albuquerque, New Mexico.   The drive was easy, but I struggled to stay awake.  At the New Mexico welcome center we saw signs warning about snakes.  I bought coffee and we walked around in the tiny museum that the rest area offered.  The kids and I voted NM the windiest state.  The picnic tables had wind shelters built around them.  I pulled out the bread and peanut butter jar, and the plates blew away.  I grabbed the plates, and the utensils blew away.  The peanut butter jar blew over.   The wind was so hard and dry and hot that the bread turned to toast before the sandwiches were made.  We struggled to keep everything from blowing away while we ate, and found ourselves sitting on the ground with our backs against the wind shelter wall just to get lunch taken care of. 

Wind shelter around picnic table

The landscape was wide and flat, perfect for the wind to gather up the speed needed to carry off small children, unattended coolers and any lunch item not held down.  The rest stop included a cattle pen, something we never see at rest stops back east.  It was too bad we couldn’t stay here; all our wet gear would be dry in a few minutes.

Laura demonstrating wind strength 

After driving a little while longer the scenery changed, and wide red and brown buttes rose up around the highway.  This was nothing like the moist green of Georgia.  The colors were so rich and earthy, red, brown and orange all against a deep turquoise blue sky.  We were driving on the famous route 66, and with the dry landscape, the older buildings, and the fun billboards, we really felt the diversity of our country.

We drove, and the elevation changed.  I struggled to keep my car at speed.  The traffic increased, trucks rushed by, but my car felt heavy and slow.  We stopped at a hotel at the edge of town.  The manager was friendly, and excited to hear we had driven all the way from Georgia.  He wanted to tell us the history of the area, and the names of the beautiful mountains we could see. He explained they were the Sandia Mountains, the name was Spanish for watermelon. He told us we were in a mile high city.  I was so tired I could not even hold a conversation, like my car I was sluggish and moving slowly.  I barely remembered falling into bed, but I woke to the TV playing and showers running.  It was a Sunday, and we had planned on attending a local church for evening worship.  The bed was so soft, and I was so tired, and the idea of facing a group of strangers overwhelming.  I looked at my kids freshly scrubbed faces, realized they had simply gotten ready while I slept, and in a few minutes we were following a local map through town.  At a stoplight Anna pointed at a neighborhood.  “I love those mud houses.”

“Adobe,” I said, and we laughed.  Adobe neighborhoods were another unfamiliar site.  Yards were landscaped to survive the lack of water.  Instead of grass, yards had dry heat tolerant plants, dessert wildflowers, and sand or rocks.  It was lovely, and the few bright green overly watered yards looked unnatural, like radioactive mold growing in front of the homes.

The church building was designed with a glass front entrance, taking advantage of the view of the tall Sandia Mountains.  We were already falling in love with this town.   The church was friendly, and I remembered that wherever we go, we have family.

Back at the hotel we ordered pizza and went to bed.  Albuquerque was a nice town and a good break.  We rested, did laundry and shopped, swam in the pool and explored the Old Town like typical tourists.  At the end of the day, back in the hotel I felt confined, and missed the campgrounds.  The air-conditioning felt unnatural, the TV too loud. I drug my chair out onto the porch and read, enjoying the mountain view .  Walls do not a relaxing vacation make.

Travel through Windy Texas, by Shelley Hopkins

Part 3 - Windy Texas

This is the third part of a series that describes a trip we took several years ago.  If you have not read the first part, click here.

We woke early to find all of our neighbors finally asleep.  The campsite was peaceful and quiet, and I almost didn’t want to leave.  We only hurried because clouds were forming, and just as we pulled out of the park large drops began to fall.  We drove across the long bridge over the lake, and as the sky cleared we hit the highway and headed towards Texas.

            We noticed fewer trees, and soon the land was empty and rolling.  Deep ravines were cut into the grass, and high hills weaved away from the road.  We stopped for lunch at the Texas Welcome Center, which also passed as a tornado shelter.  Laughing, we hoped that wasn’t prophetic. 

            Everywhere I saw signs of that famous Texas pride, from the Welcome signs to the camp grills shaped like the state.  The land was so beautiful; I was really enjoying the drive now.  Our next stop was a KOA at Amarillo, and we hoped to play in the pool and relax. 

            Living in a metro area, I had forgotten to keep the gas tank full.  Gas stations were farther apart than expected, and I watched the needle inch closer and closer to E.  The road was empty, and the pretty waving landscape was gone.  Everything was barren and flat, and there were no gas stations in sight.  Trying not to worry I pressed on.   Finally we saw a gas station, with prices much higher than I had seen yet.  Obviously many drivers were desperate.  Full, we drove on, quickly passing cheaper gas stations.

 We began seeing signs for Amarillo, including  signs proud of the 16 oz steak.  My stomach churned at the very thought.  Everything was so flat.  We drove through downtown Amarillo, a Wild West modern town, turned one block off Main Street and pulled into the KOA.  One advantage to tent camping is since everyone else is traveling in mega sized RV’s, we have our choice of tent pads.  Like most nights on this trip, we were the only tent campers.

The land was flat and wide and looking out across the west we could see a storm way off in the distance.  I mentioned the storm when we stepped in to the camp store to pay for the night.

“Don’t worry,” the hostess said.  “We’ve had storms come that way the last couple of nights, but they break up and pass around us.”

I bought fuel for the stove, and as the kids set up the tent I finally reheated my home cooked meal from three days ago.  Dinner was wonderful, sitting on the picnic table.  We were near the swimming pool, beside an empty field, but also close to the game room and bathhouse.  Showers or a swim, I couldn’t decide.

Having grown up backpacking and camping in wilderness areas, a KOA is a different kind of camping experience.  The sites are close, and neighbors can talk while washing the dishes.  Several people expressed surprise at our camping in a tent, and one family invited us to join them in their cabin when the weather turned bad.  The wife looked at me as if I were crazy.  “I’m from Texas, and I would never sleep in a tent here.  Too many tornadoes.”

I thanked her, but told her we were fine.  I enjoyed watching the different travelers pull in with their fancy RV’s.   These adventurers set up camp chairs, antennas, little camp decorations such as fake mail boxes and lights, then settle inside to watch TV.  It looked to me like they recreated a miniature version of their house and yard, only to step inside and recreate a normal evening at home.

A motorcycle pulled into a lot near ours with his tiny A-frame pop up.  Smiling, I could imagine my husband and I doing that in our future.

 A tractor pulling a hay wagon drove past the campsites, his radio loudly blaring “The Yellow Rose of Texas,” and “Amarillo Rain.”  Laura jumped up and down.  “A hay ride.  Can we go, please.”  This was not my idea of camping, but once I let go of my expectations I was able to enjoy myself.  There was a whole world of people travelling along these entertainment-oriented campgrounds that I had not known about.  Joseph wanted to read, so the girls and I hopped aboard the very loud wagon.  People appeared from nowhere and everywhere.  Were there really this many families in such a tiny campground?  We were squeezed onto the hay bales, hip to hip with strangers, all smiling and friendly.  Around the campsites we drove, washing everyone in the loud country music.  Suddenly we heard an even louder noise, the crack of thunder.  We were instantly drenched.  Campers scattered everywhere, returning to the RV’s.

We jumped in the car, not wanting to get the tent wet.  Soon the storm passed.  Collecting dry clothes we decided to take showers.  Tornado sirens, possibly even louder than the hayride music, screamed their warning, and all of us ran into the game room.  Tornados had been spotted in various areas, none of which I had heard of.  We talked to other campers who said that most of the tornadoes were not too near.  The bathhouse was part of the tornado shelter, so the girls took their towels and clothing to the showers.  I walked back to the tent to retrieve the forgotten shampoo.  One of the KOA employees saw me and ran over to talk.  “You the lady in the tent, aren’t, you?”

“Um, yes, that’s me.”

He squinted at me.  “You might want to go and take it down.  Weather service says we got a 60 mph linear wind coming our way.”  He was busy, so I didn’t ask what that was, but it didn’t sound good.  I found Joseph and we talked.  The wind was already heavy and ominous clouds were building up again.  I could smell rain.  Actually the huge thunderhead coming our way was beautiful with the sunset colors as the day ended.  We debated taking the tent down.  It was rainproof, and there was no room for sleeping in the car, but I didn’t want the wind tearing up the tent either.  Standing outside the tent discussing these ideas, a crack of lightning sparked the air and electrified our skin.  Yelling, we jumped into the car.  I turned on the radio and heard the word tornado and flood, but not much else over the fury of rain that pelted the car.  The rain descended upon us so hard we couldn’t see the hood from the front window.  Darkness fell about, lightening flashed, rain and thunder competed in sound and fury, and wind beat upon the car.  The girls were in the shower, we were in the car, but I felt a need for us to be together.  The truth was Anna and Laura were much safer in the bathhouse. 

“Thank goodness the girls are in the storm shelter.  At least they are safe.”  Just as I finished speaking, through a slight break in the rain, I saw Anna and Laura walking down the road to us, carrying all their now soaked clothes and towels.  I opened the car door and yelled for them to get in the car, not the tent.   So far the inside of the tent was dry, which was more than I could say for the inside of the car.  In the dark of the storm the sun set.  Fiddling with the radio I heard the announcer mention there had been four tornadoes around Amarillo, flooding in the streets of the town, and a rescue of campers from a church camp somewhere south of town. 

Eventually the rain slowed down.  We decided to move to the tent and sleep.  The goal was to allow 4 wet people in a storm to open the tent door and climb in without getting the inside wet.  Listening to the rain, we judged a slow moment, jumped out of the car, ran to the tent, returned to the car for Laura’s stuffed animal, returned to the tent, slipped inside one at a time and zipped the door closed.   Just as the tent was sealed another surge of rain fell.  We were pretty cozy, and quickly everyone was asleep except me.  When the rain slowed, the wind picked up.  Since we were basically camping in the middle of town, we had streetlights.  I watched the wind fold the tent wall nearly in half.  The side would press down completely, covering the sleeping kids.  It looked like the tent was trying to eat them; only their legs were sticking out, like little hobbits being eaten by a tree.  Then the wind would release its grip and the tent would stand up again.  I was afraid they would suffocate.  The next wind gust pushed the tent down and I tried to push back.   The wind was stronger.  I could feel the power of the wind through the vinyl tent.  It felt like I was trying to hold back the ocean.  Once again, only legs could be seen.   How could those kids breathe with the tent pressing down over them? 

            I was determined to stay awake all night and protect my babies.  For hours I struggled, holding back the wind, or at least the tent side, but exhaustion took over, an eventually I fell asleep too.  Luckily my fears were just that, fears.  We all slept well, and woke to a dry but windy morning.

part 2 of Trip out West, of pyramids and rice paddies, by Shelley Hopkins

Part 2, of pyramids and rice paddies

This is the second part of a series that describes a trip we took several years ago.  If you have not read the first part, click here.

picture borrowed from Superstock.

            In the morning we woke refreshed and ready for the next adventure.  The sun was shining and the day promised to be warm and humid.  As I climbed out of the tent I noticed the well-dressed man in the truck was still there, still sitting in his seat.  While I was looking a nicely dressed woman sat up; she had apparently been sleeping in the back of the truck.  Instead of a strange stalker, I saw a middle aged couple crossing the country cheaply, somewhat like us, sleeping in campsites instead of hotels.  It occurred to me that whenever people do a thing that is different, unexpected, we judge them fearfully.  What a shame, what pressure we put on others to conform.  I wondered how many different and interesting people we would meet on this trip.  We might all live in the USA, but we can live vastly different lives.

            Packing up and eating breakfast took longer than I expected, and by the time we drove towards the Memphis Bridge I was hot and sweaty.  We had hoped to walk along the Mississippi River, but all we got to see were quick views as we drove towards the bridge.  I would like to go back and see this city again someday, an idea I thought over and over on this trip.

 Memphis has a glass pyramid shaped building beside the shore of the Mississippi, and as we drove it would appear and disappear behind other buildings.  Anna would say, “Look, a pyramid.”  We would miss it, and wait, look away, just as she would see it again.  She pulled out her camera.  Finally as we turned onto the bridge we all saw the giant building, gleaming in the sun. 

We approached the Mississippi river, and along with the wave of traffic we drove onto the bridge. I was excited; this was the traditional crossing into the west.  How many books had I read about this long river?  As we reached the center of the bridge a new feeling washed over me, a chill.  We were passing a turning point, we had to finish the trip now.  I slowed the car, almost afraid of crossing this river, the symbol of entering the west.  It felt like we pushed through an invisible barrier, but once across, we moved forward easily.  As I rolled into Arkansas I relaxed, peace filled, we were really on our way.  The roads were wider, and the cars moved easily, with more space.

I had no idea what to expect of Arkansas, but we were completely surprised to see rice fields.  Then Laura cried out, “Look, Bugs Bunny has been in there.”  Out in the fields beside the highway was what could only be described as bugs bunny style raised tunnels weaving back and forth across the fields.  We all laughed.  Certainly there was a purpose for these raised tunnels of dirt, but we had no idea what it was.  I wasn’t even certain they were rice paddies until I passed a sign extolling the virtues of Arkansas rice.  We had just crossed the Mississippi that morning and already I was learning things about my own country, seeing new sights. 

image borrowed from wiki links.

Our drive took on its familiar rhythm.  The front seat child had the job of navigator and we all took turns choosing the music.  We did not need a GPS to cross our country.  We used maps, and as the kids helped read those maps and plan the trip, they gained valuable skills.

Halfway through Arkansas the landscape changed from flat to rolling mountains.  We pulled off at a viewing area to enjoy the view.  We thought about lunch, but decided to press on, and to give me a break Joseph drove.  Joseph was just 16 and had his drivers permit.  Riding with a 16 year old new driver isn’t exactly relaxing, but I was determined to act relaxed and to take advantage of the break.  I remember an older man who asked Joseph if he liked driving.  The man had said, “I hated driving with my mother.  She was always so terrified she made me miserable.”  Listening, I resolved to not be like that, but I’m not sure I had achieved that goal.  When Joseph drove I switched from a happy go lucky adventurer to a stressed and fearful old woman.  Today, once Joseph pulled onto the highway and finally settled down to a driving speed, I got out my diary and began to write.  If I pretended to be nonchalant I would be.  I think I did a pretty good job too, writing maybe 5 lines in 2 hours.

Our plan was to stop at rest areas for sandwiches each day.  Oklahoma was close so we waited to eat lunch at the border, but when we crossed into the new state there was no rest area, or pullover, or welcome center.  We drove on, getting hungrier and hungrier.  Joseph and I stopped to switch places.  It was hot out there near the end of June.

The kids scanned the map for a rest area with no luck, then I had an idea.  We’ll just pull off and tailgate, just eat out of the back of the car in a parking lot.  We exited the highway and the parking lot we found was outside of McDonalds.  I lifted the tailgate and we dug around for our lunch things in the oppressive heat.  Before I knew what had happened we were all sitting in the air-conditioned building eating greasy hamburgers.  The adventure of the discovery of our country was replaced by a shiny fast food joint.

Back on the road I began to dream about our evening’s campsite.  I had picked a place off of the highway on the other side of Oklahoma City because it had a lake and sounded a little more private than a KOA.  I hoped we would have time to swim, reheat our still unheated chili and maybe have a campfire.  We drove on and on, passed Oklahoma City, and drove some more.  Finally we turned off the highway to Lake Eufala, and drove some more, on and on along the endless highway.  An hour later we reached the State Park, paid our fee, and drove through the woods.  At first I was disappointed in the campsite.  There were few trees, the ground looked eroded and hard.  We chose our site, the kids set up the tent while I got everything ready for supper.  I set up the cook stove, turned on the gas, and heard nothing.  I had heated water for coffee this morning, but now there was no fuel.  Deeply disappointed we ate another cold supper of peanut butter and jelly.  The campsite was drab and poor, the air stuffy and hot, and our supper was sandwiches.

After supper we walked down to the sandy shore and put our feet in the water.  A few campers were swimming.   The water looked cool and refreshing, and we decided it was time to change clothes and cool off.

 The bathhouse was full of bugs and the doors wouldn’t shut.  It was hot and sticky, making it difficult to put on the bathing suits in the stalls without falling down.  The floors were dirty, and the entire dressing process left us in a tired and grumpy mood.  We walked across the rocks, dropped our things in the tent and entered the lake.  The cool water felt wonderful after the hot dry day.  We floated and played in the water, and slowly the scenery changed.  The sky seemed softer, the mountains nestled close and even the neighboring campers seemed friendlier.

We ended the evening sitting on our picnic table enjoying the view of the lake and the mountains.  Joseph played his guitar, Anna and I read and Laura played with a new friend.  I soon realized all the other campers were related, and friends and cousins were driving in and out all night.  Beer cans were popped, music played from car stereos and visitors greeted each other loudly.  I had driven over an hour off the highway for the peacefulness of a remote campground, and now we were relaxing in the middle of a family reunion, of sorts.  When darkness fell we retreated to the tent, and involved ourselves in another UNO championship.  We had our cards and our circle of light in the tent, surrounded by the wild night of music, cars, and the laughter of strangers.  The evening had not gone as planned, but it had still been nice, and we were on our adventure!

Driving across the country with 3 kids, part one, by Shelley Hopkins

I use this blog to practice my writing, and my final goal is to be a travel writer.  I am going to publish a series based on a trip the kids and I took in the summer of 2004.  I wrote this after we moved to WV, and filed it away somewhere.  Now I am refining it and will publish it here in installments.  If you wish, feel free to give me usable suggestions on ways to improve my writing.

I can remember writing this first chapter sitting in the grass at a YMCA in WV while my kids participated in a homeschool PE class. This is not typical blog writing, it is long and winding, and for that I apologize.

Have Peanut butter, will travel part 1

Kissing my husband goodbye, the children and I climbed into the car.  My stomach was in knots.  I was embarking on a journey, following my dream, and yet this morning I felt sick and lonely.  Ever since I was a little girl I had wanted to drive across the country like my dad had done with his school buddies, like John Steinbeck in Travels With Charlie, and now I was pulling out of the driveway.  My husband followed in his car, but he was heading to work like every other day.  My teenage son Joseph had a cold and he rested in the back seat.  Beside him was my youngest, Laura, eager to play with the toys and crafts I had collected for the trip.  In the front was my middle daughter Anna, her eyes gleaming with excitement for travel.  I had spent half a year preparing for the trip, planning my way out west with stops, hikes and campgrounds.  I hadn’t given one thought to the way home.  Also, I would be away from my husband of 21 years for 6 weeks, the longest we had ever been apart.

            Soon we were at the intersection where Kevin turned right and drove on to work.  We turned left towards Chattanooga.  Within the first 15 minutes Laura had tried out all of her crafts, looked at every toy and each book.  We had only travelled 45 minutes of all the 2,000 miles planned and she was already bored and tired of the trip.  The other kids were deep into their books and didn’t want to be bothered to entertain her.  I wondered, and worried.  Was I insane to want to travel across the country with only three kids, two of which were teenagers?  Maybe I could turn back.  What would my husband say when he came home from work, to find me there unloading the van.  Knowing how much I wanted to go on this trip, he would call me a coward.  All of my friends would call me a quitter.  I drove on.  Maybe I could turn back after the first night.  Maybe I would keep going.

            For lunch we stopped at the Tennessee welcome center, pulled out our sandwich things, chips and drinks.  We ate, sitting around a picnic table in a field of grass watching the trucks and cars whiz by.  Free from the car the kids cheered up.  I began to get a little excited.  We were really on our way, but I began to wonder, did I really want to cross the entire USA on highways?  Would I get to see any of the country?  I had our trip mapped out, dinners planned, and after dinner activities researched.   I knew how long each section of the trip should take, and I had all that information in a notebook.  For our first night we were sleeping in Memphis.  We had a campground picked out, and after a supper of homemade chili I had brought from home we were going to walk along the Mississippi, pass by Graceland, and explore an island nature preserve.  While the girls climbed on rocks in the field I looked over the map.  I showed the map to Joseph.  “Look, I could stay on two lane roads and go more directly to Memphis through Alabama.”

            “I don’t know,” Joseph warned.  “Highways are usually faster.”  He sounded just like my husband.

            “Yes,” I agreed, “but this way is so direct, I bet it will be just as fast, and we could see more scenery”

            I was sure we would arrive earlier than my planned 6:00.  Six months of planning and half a day into the trip I had abandoned my plans.  A feeling of freedom swept over me.  The trip had really begun now.

Back into the car we swerved away from the 4 lanes, crossed mountains and headed west into Alabama.  I allowed Laura to choose the music.  Her latest obsession was the Phantom of the Opera, and as the Phantom blared through the speakers we drove in a sea of kudzu.  Alabama was beautiful, the two lane road was much more pleasant than a highway, and soon I fell into the rhythm of driving.  We stopped for ice cream and gas around 3:00.  The drive seemed to be taking longer than it should have.  The weather was still beautiful, warm and sunny.  I turned on the radio.  A long storm was crossing the plains and it was expected to hit Memphis after supper. 

            “We should have our tent up before then,”  I said in a hopeful voice.  Joseph was asleep.  I sped up slightly.  Suddenly a road sign announced, “You are entering Mississippi.” 

            “What!” I hollered.  “Mississippi!” 

            I must be very lost.  The road was of a poorer quality, and side roads were of dirt.  I imagined we had turned way south.  Joseph woke up to my shouts of confusion.  I tossed him a map. “Somehow we ended up in Mississippi. Help!”

            He rubbed his eyes, took the map and laughed.  We were at a corner of Mississippi, Alabama and Tennessee, right where we should have been.  A little knowledge of geography would have kept me from panic.  I drove on and soon we had returned to Tennessee.  The storm and I were on a collision course, and the epicenter was our Memphis campground.   The sky was blue, but I could see the clouds in the distance moving closer.  As we reached the outskirts of Memphis the clouds turned the sky dark.  It was rush hour and traffic was heavy.  Joseph read instructions to me, I dodged cars, and rain pelted, making vision difficult.  Finally we reached our exit. 

We found ourselves in a dubious looking industrial area, then after a few turns we were deep in woods.  The rain slowed, then stopped.  We were starving and tired as we pulled into the small campground.  We were ready for the chili.  As we drove slowly looking at the individual campsites I made plans.

“Joseph and Anna, you two set up the tent quickly before any rain comes back, and I’ll heat up the supper.”  Just as I spoke those hopeful words thunder rolled across our van, a heavy wind beat at us, and the rain fell.  Rain fell like I had never seen before.  The noise of it filled the car and we couldn’t hear each other.  Vision was gone.  I just stopped driving.  We were the only crazy people in the campground anyway.  In a small break of the rain I saw, out my window, a huge snake crossing the road through a river of water.

“Kids, I am calling a hotel.”  I pulled out the cell phone and my AAA books, and tried to call a couple of numbers, but I had no service.  The kids were just hungry.  The rain slowed some more.  I could see a covered picnic shelter near the bathhouse.  I backed the van as close as possible and under the cover of the tailgate we found more lunch supplies.  Instead of our warm home cooked chili we had peanut butter and jelly, pudding snacks, chips and apples.  The rain was still falling and the air was cool.  With food my sense of adventure returned and I had a plan.

“Why don’t we put up the tent under here, cover it with the rain fly and then walk it out to a campsite.”

“that won’t work,” said one.  There isn’t room under here with all the picnic tables,” said another.  “We couldn’t carry it, the poles would bend.” Said the third.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” That was Laura, my youngest.

In raincoats we ran to the bathhouse.  Wet grass tickled our legs and our toes in the sandals.  When we left the bathhouse the rain had stopped.  Laura and I walked back to the picnic shelter.  Joseph and Anna were missing.  Nervously I looked around and saw them over at a campsite, quickly erecting the tent.

            I had a new feeling; I was no longer a lone adult traveling with her children, but part of a team. 

We enjoyed a walk as the sun set, then began the bedtime routines.  Toothbrushes in one hand, flashlights in the other we marched to the bathhouse.  A few other campers had arrived after the storm passed, including a lone pick up truck with no tent or camper.  Sitting in the front seat was a man, dressed nicely in a business suit.  He didn’t seem to fit what I was used to seeing in a campground.  A twinge of fear seeped in, and I wished my husband was with us.  Should I worry?  I was almost too tired to care.  Back in the tent I held a flashlight in one hand and my key fob in the other.  If he was a crazy camping family killer and he came after us, I could hit the panic button, beat him with the mag light and scream. 

Exhausted I lay in the sleeping bag, listening to my kids play UNO by flashlight.  These were the memories I wanted them to have, a cozy game of cards in a tiny circle of light in the tent as we drove across the country.  I was too tired to join them, but listening as I drifted off to sleep was pure joy.