Summers growing up seemed long. It seemed like months of day trips, beaches, back yard kiddy pools, sprinklers, and hot summer nights fighting over the fan with cold face cloths on our back trying to beat the heat. We didn't really do summer camps, we didn't belong to a country club or pool, we didn't have a Cape house or lake house, but we had camping. Both my husband and I grew up camping. My family tent camped until we bought a no-frills pop-up camper, and my husband's family had a motorhome, but camped less often. We both camped local, and often with other families. We explored Cape Cod, New Hampshire, and Maine, but never left New England. Some of our greatest memories of childhood were rooted in camping, so it was always our plan to camp with our family.
We too started off tent camping in New England with kids, and spent weeks each summer lakeside with cousins and friends, riding bikes, and covered in dirt. Camping is a lot of work, but there is nothing better for kids than rising with the sun, riding bikes in pajamas, spending the day swimming, making new campground friends, eating s'mores around the fire, and sleeping beneath the stars.
But, when my father in law was diagnosed with recurrent metastatic colon cancer in the summer of 2016 and decided to move forward with palliative care and hospice, he pulled my husband aside. He told him that he knew we would be getting a small amount of money when he passed, and he wanted nothing more than for us to buy an RV and make memories with our family, the way he had with his. He didn't want us to pay off bills, or fix the roof, he wanted us to invest in our children's memories. He battled cancer long and hard, but after spending many a days and nights with family, and after a few long months of goodbyes, he passed away peacefully that November surrounded by those he loved. As we grieved his loss, we began fulfilling a promise,and began looking for our "memory maker". In the spring of 2017 we found our "memory maker", a 28 foot dream machine, and called her home.
In the past two years we've traveled south to Hershey Park Pennsylvania, Shenandoah National Park Virginia, Washington DC, Long Island New York, Delaware Beach, the Outer Banks North Carolina, Virginia Beach, Assateague Island Maryland, Charleston South Carolina, Savannah Georgia, Tybee Island Georgia, and Myrtle Beach. We have traveled west to Lake George New York, Cooperstown New York, Lake Erie New York, Notre Dame University, Cleveland Ohio, Minneapolis Minnesota, Wisconsin, Theodore Roosevelt National Park North Dakota, Fort Abraham Lincoln State Park North Dakota, Makoshika State Park Montana, Yellowstone National Park Wyoming, The Grand Tetons National Park Wyoming, The Badlands National Park South Dakota, Mount Rushmore National Park South Dakota, Indiana, and the middle of nowhere Iowa.
We have driven thousands of miles since the spring of 2017, and if you asked me right now if I would leave again tomorrow, the answer would be yes, in fact it's always packed and ready to go. Why? Because there is no better way to see our nation, to see how other people live outside of our little bubble. There is no better way to explore the varying environments, see the vast landscapes, experience different cultures, and diversity of our country then to drive through it, to stay in it, to grocery shop in it, and meet the people there who call it home. They still talk about the cashier at Piggly Wiggly that came outside to check us out, and the Vietnam Veteran who gave them silver dollars at a rest stop in Virginia. They talk about the dinosaur fossils we found while hiking in Montana, and the Bison that was hanging in our campsite in Yellowstone. They talk about horse back riding, fishing, hiking, and bike riding we've done in every place, and remember the cheddar cheese from Wisconsin, and the gas station peanuts in Georgia.
Were there times in which I wished we could hop on a plane, sleep in a hotel, and eat at a restaurant? Absolutely. Were their times I wished the cell service was better, and everyone could be plugged into an electronic and quiet? Sure. But, here's the thing, when you choose to unplug, choose to connect, and choose to interact with the world around you, a funny thing happens. You see more, you do more, you laugh more, you get to know each other more, you learn to tolerate others in your space, and yet you learn to live with less. Living in less than 200 square feet with 4 kids and 2 dogs is tight. We only bring the essentials, and visit laundry mats and grocery stores often. We have a container of art supplies, coloring books, and reading books. We bring our bikes, beach gear, a football, baseball gloves, and scooters. Each kid chooses their favorite toy, a few barbies, horses, matchbox cars, and thats it. Each kid has a kindle, and of course we have our phones, but more often than not they don't work. On each of our trips, not one kid has asked about any of the "stuff" we left behind. But, our kids have learned to look out the window, play the license plate game, listen to music of all genres, and have learned how to read maps. They've learned how to settle in, relax, and enjoy the process, not just the destination. They've sat by campfires, seen shooting stars, caught fireflies by the hundreds, swam in oceans, lakes, rivers and pools. They've ridden bikes, scooters, and horses. They've played with kids they'll never see again as if they had known them all their lives, explored huge cities and navigated subways. They've hikes landscapes in which every direction you look there are no building, no industry, no people, and driven through towns with a population of 4. Camping isn't for everyone, it's not all cupcakes and rainbows, and we've heard the words "Are we there yet?" more times than we'd like to count. It's not easy, and it's WAY better without rain, but memories are made regardless of the weather, regardless of the place, and regardless of the age. So, whatever you do, however you do it, get outside and make memories.