Life Happens…

Determined to continue a tradition from both her and her husband’s childhood, she takes responsibility for organizing a family of ten to ensure adequate supplies as they pack for an outdoor vacation. They began their once yearly, weeklong life in nature’s habitat with four children in tow, now eight dependents. Children, given a list of basic needs and a backpack to stow their gear, understand and accept duties as assigned by the supervising ‘sergeant’. Well trained in essentials, even the youngest proudly displays his clothes and other items. Sleeping bags, air mattresses, blankets, waterproof pads, several tarps, three tents, pegs, guy ropes, coolers, dishes, cooking supplies, portable stoves, collapsible water containers, lanterns, and personal items for each fit inside every available space within the Ford Econoline 150 van, meant to accommodate eight people. Packing becomes an art in limited space, and she has it down to a science. Shopping at Perry Market Place, outside of Letchworth State Park, where each child eagerly assists with selections of their favourite food and snack choices, takes longer than expected, but it is all part of the great summer adventure.

Setting up a home base, a production of animation, sorting, assembling, and efficiency accomplished allows plenty of time for exploration. Nestled into abundant foliage and trees, the two-room tent perched atop a steep embankment where wildlife dwell, will house six. Two other sleeping tents and an enclosed dining area erected complete the site. With many hands assisting, the tarps securely fastened from tree to tree, and more trees, provide overhead shelter for all tents, the cooking, and eating areas. Sighs of relief and accomplishment rend the air, time to commune with nature. The electric and largest site staked out, satisfy the crowd. Lessons learned without electricity taught them how cold and damp nights can get in the woods, and how unpleasant it is when downpours happen, drenching everything.

Collecting twigs in anticipation of enjoying gooey, sticky, lightly browned, hot treats awaiting spurs the children into action, hunting for the perfect size and length. Evening shadows fall gracefully between tall pine trees surrounding their home away from home. A smell permeates the night air, infusing clothes, and instinctively drawing deep inhalations at the distinctive aroma of dead cedar. Dry logs crackle and hiss as a kaleidoscope of yellow, red, and orange merge in an upward reach, spewing tiny sparks dancing under star-studded skies. Burning embers prepare a bed of warmth ideal for heat roasting temperatures of golden-brown unless a stick with its treasure meets ash setting alight the sugary confection to a skin of wrinkled blackness. The family enjoys their traditional camping evening around the glowing fire with a large bag of marshmallows, sticks, including graham crackers with chocolate bars for S’mores. Campfire songs and stories, mildly spooky or funny delight. The Stinky Cheese Man and The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs, By A. Wolf, elicits laughter every time.
(https://kidlit.tv/2017/01/read-loud-true-story-three-little-pigs/)

In night’s stillness, inquisitive ears perk up. Convinced rustling of the undergrowth’s pine needles and the shadowed outlines testify of a bear nearby, little people fear. Older siblings teasing earlier about the trail beyond their lodgings belonging to a bear further intensifies imagination, combined with tell-tale signs and warnings around the campground, give pause for alleviating active minds. Moving chairs closer to the warm light of the slowly dying fire provides a measure of comfort. Insisting there is nothing of concern lurking in the woods, flashlights for a walk on the tree-rooted path become necessary. The oldest four excitedly join father on a bear hunt, humorous to those knowing the chanting song, while the youngest four anxiously wait with their mother. Returning to declare no evidence or sighting other than scurrying squirrels and scavenging raccoons, they ready themselves for bed, snuggling into comfy sleeping bags.

Known as the Grand Canyon of the East, the gorge hiking and waterfall trails, with turkey vultures circling overhead, instill wonder. Along the path, a table vastly different from all others draw their attention. For several weeks, before bedtime, the children would gather around their mother as she read The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe to them. Etched in their imagination, the poignant scene with Aslan and the White Witch, they stop in amazement before a visual representation of the stone table.

They walked to the Eastern edge of the hill and looked down. The one big star had almost disappeared. The country all looked dark grey, but beyond, at the very end of the world, the sea showed pale. The sky began to turn red. They walked to and fro more times than they could count…trying to keep warm; and oh, how tired their legs felt. Then at last, as they stood for a moment looking out towards the sea and Cair Paravel (which they could now just make out) the red turned to gold along the line where the sea and the sky met and very slowly up came the edge of the sun. At that moment they heard from behind them a loud noise—a great cracking, deafening noise as if a giant had broken a giant’s plate.
“What’s that?” said Lucy, clutching Susan’s arm.
“I—I feel afraid to turn round,” said Susan; “something awful is happening.”
“They’re doing something worse to him,” said Lucy. “Come on!” And she turned, pulling Susan round with her.
The rising of the sun had made everything look so different—all the colours and shadows were changed—that for a moment they didn’t see the important thing. Then they did. The Stone Table was broken into two pieces by a great crack that ran down it from end to end;

[Lewis, C.S. The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. Chapter 15 (1950)]
https://gutenberg.ca/ebooks/lewiscs-thelionthewitchandthewardrobe/lewiscs-thelionthewitchandthewardrobe-00-h.html (to read the whole book)

The waterfall hike waits while they reminisce and pose. Continuing onward, they finally reach a lookout and rest. Observing, and hearing the power of water cascading over rocks carving its way over shale bottoms, they stare.

As the sun descends below the horizon, the family returns to their tents, passing grazing deer along the darkened road leading through the park, while unbeknownst to them, visitors enjoy the dining tent. Headlights catch yellow eyes unawares, sending those scavengers quickly under the mesh walls, out past the main tent and down the trail, disappearing into the cover of wooded blackness. Careful to make sure no food was left outside or in any of the tents, they unzip the dining door to enter for a closer examination. Canned goods, acting as weights, placed atop the cooler now lay knocked over onto the ground. Lifting the lid reveals missing Three Musketeer bars, empty and ripped wrappers left. Tidying up, securing loose items, and moving the cooler into the van, they are ready for bed after a long day visiting historical sites, shopping, and watching an outdoor pageant performed on the side of a hill.

Nocturnal wildlife, unthreatened by daylight’s intruders, ramble and scurry without care. Light sleepers repose in thought, eyes wearily drifting between open and closed, listening to nature’s secret life alive in the dark. Hooting owls on the prowl, paws traipsing across the pine-needled ground, humming waters flowing over rocks, chattering rodents, and banging dumpster lids, heard. Highly attuned in the stillness, innate senses twitch at each sound and every shadow looming larger, louder, and closer. A back corner of the tent falls inward. Why? How? Reluctantly, reaching for a flashlight, slipping out of his cozy flannel-lined, down-filled sack, trying quietly to feel his way to the zippered door, he exits. Everyone now stirs in rhythm to movement of a disturbed air mattress and fumbling, and more fully, the up and down illumination outside. He starts around the corner to spot those familiar yellow pupils from earlier, caught in the glare, staring back at him. This feisty raccoon turns tail, disappearing down the bank. Investigating detects one guy rope still firmly tucked into the hooked stake, but no longer in the hard ground, lying against the fallen wall. Using pressure from his foot, he ensures a deeper placement of the stake. Assuring all tethers are tautly secure, he returns with a report for everyone. Life happens…so do tents.

Birds chirping with dawn’s awakening alert the campers to a new day. Father, responsible for all cooking, lights propane stoves in preparation for a hearty breakfast. Cracking eggs, a surprise, and curious wide-eyed on-lookers. An unexpected exclamation draws others to see the reason. Each breaking shell exposes the multiplication effect. Twenty-four bright yellow yokes float where only twelve should be in the bowl. One cast-iron frying pan soon entices as the rustic, smoky smell of pork strips sizzling rends the fresh air. The pop-pop sound of hot grease, with fat curling and bacon shrinking into crispiness, leaves drippings for savouring scrambled protein. Soon a feast of bacon, eggs, several varieties of cereal, and fruit, crowd the weather-worn, covered picnic table. Hands reach in eager haste to fill plates and bowls, and satiate appetites.

Sunlight gleams through trees and branches, the temperature rises, sandy shores, and water beckon for an afternoon of cooling off. Father gets in the water to play with youngsters. Lifting them, one at a time, they eagerly prepare by plugging their noses before the tosses submerge them underneath blue waters, like closing the lid on the Jack in the Box, before they pop right out. Mother and the others test their swimming prowess on the way out to a small rock island where they build an inukshuk. Several hours of sunshine, fresh air, and water ensure grumbling bellies.

Imagination leads to the building of a chipmunk altar back at the site. Gathering rocks of various sizes, mapping out the area, and designing the layout, with instructions given to those willing to help, the eldest begins assembling. Construction proceeds with a centrepiece, the tallest. Several flatter stones placed in a circular fashion equidistance from the main structure tempt little hands, as evidenced in his mischievous grin. Enlisting his gathering capabilities, she appreciates all the stones he finds. Catastrophe aversion the goal, father keeps a close watch, speaking when necessary. Using the smallest stones to create a perimeter, she examines her work. One of the flat, perimeter stones, with another atop, becomes the altar where her offering waits the chipmunk’s visit. She finishes by creating a leading stone path. She waits.

Baby blue skies interspersed with swiftly moving wispiness give way to engorged, grey flecked pillows on an ever-changing background with moonrise. Blinking tiny spurts of light, a magical show of ‘now you see me, now you don’t, casting a hypnotizing spell, become less frequent as eyes dart in their game of hide-and-seek with fireflies. A musty, woodsy scent seeps into nostrils. Dying embers repel mosquitoes and a damp chill creeping in the air. Brewing high overhead, a storm attracted by polyester coverings, appears imminent. Tarps provide a layer of additional protection for exhausted campers, who snuggle into their sacks, falling peacefully into the land of dreams. First, gentle tapping drips descend with utmost grace. Soon followed by more force, atmospheric turbulence beats a steady rhythm attracting thunderous applause. Some appreciatively startling moments capture the sleepy-eyed falling into its trance-induced cadence. Sunlight filters through the tents as they arise to lifting moisture, though much is soaked underneath. The downpour found a weakness, exploited it, then retreated. More memory-making experiences and adventures in nature’s wonderland draw to a conclusion, for now.

“Sometimes there’s so much good to say, one can’t find words to express it. The mural of life is coloured by experiences and memories woven into our fabric, shaping us into who we are. The best memories create brilliant colours and landscapes, and become a work of art we can share.” (Shared with permission of the family member who expressed this sentiment.)

Blessed with parents who love the simple things in life– stars, clouds, fireflies, family, water, mountains, trees, wildlife, everything, and anything outside– my immersion in nature began early. Instinctively, my heart, mind, and body meld with sights, smells, and sounds of the magnificent outdoor world, infusing my entire being with peace, part of my identity and values. It must be lived and felt, an individual experience and choice. Guiding children to sources of peace in this world of turmoil and strife seems, to me, an essential part of humanity’s education, of contributory preparation, of relevance, and responsible citizenry. Nature teaches and refines character. It soothes, pacifies, and uplifts weary souls to soar in the realms of the impossible possibilities, a priceless healing balm. Outwardly simplistic with intricately threaded designs, creating a majestic masterpiece, the outdoor world only requires stillness in time. It will come to you. This is a legacy I want my children to experience through my example and love, and hopefully they will desire to nurture the gifts of nature within themselves.

Life happens…so do Tents.

From my childhood- Yoho National Park, British Columbia – The ominously large shadow emerging on the canvas walls hint of something lurking in the dark nearby unless our imaginations are overly active again. The full moon’s luminescence has a way of distorting shape and size through the heavy fabric sheltering our family from night predators in the woods. Tree branches gently swaying in the night air tell stories to children. Shushed, with ears straining to identify every rustle and scritch-scratching noise, we snuggle further into our sleeping bags with bated breath. Slowly raising a window flap, holding the lantern aloft, and peering outside, his body straightens before quickly stepping back and letting the flap fall softly into place, so as not to draw attention. The light goes out. A black bear cub exploring our site scratched at the zippered opening before retreating to the picnic table and garbage can.

How have traditions affected your choices? Your identity and values?

What have you learned from nature’s teachings?

Life happens…so do tents, Father/Daughter Memories, Missing Pieces, Waves, Gingerbread, What am I to do now, and Choices