Postcards from a Summer's Past

 It's the question right now: Where will you be vacationing this summer? For a multitude of reasons, we probably all need a break. Vacations are not always about rest and relaxation though. Honestly,  preparing for vacation can be downright stressful. If you are fortunate enough to end up on vacation, and can rest, relax, and unwind, then that's awesome. There are places that I would like to go, but for the most part, I subscribe to Dorothy's remark when she returned to Kansas after her little outing-- "There's no place like home." Still, however, I'll admit there is something that calls us away from home-- the idea of adventure, or a change of scenery, or simply, a break from the routine.

I took some time from gardening this weekend to reflect on whether or not to vacation this summer, and vacations of my past. It was the summer of 1982. I was going into the sixth grade and my sister was in junior high school. My parents decided to buy a Rockwood pop up camper and travel across country.

I'm not sure what led up to this decision. My parents were both fans of travelling. My father was romantic about the beauty of our country and wanted to see, and for his family to see and experience our nation's state parks. My mother, also with a great sense of adventure, and thankfully a great planner, made it all happen.

The Rockwood had a broad horizontal tangerine orange stripe that ran the length of it. It was one of those pop-ups where, when cranked up, the sides pushed out and became beds with zip-out windows where you could peer out and look at the stars. There was a simple two burner stove and a small refrigerator, and by no means would it be considered "glamping" by today's standards. My father knew that he was outnumbered by three --his wife and two daughters, and that tent camping across country was out of the question. 

We began our cross country trek at my grandparent's house in northern NY on the St. Lawrence river. It was there that we left our family sedan and hooked my grandparent's station wagon to the trailer and set out for our journey-- one that no doubt, my parents hoped, would inspire us and expose us to people, ways of life, and to the beauty of our great country that we had only seen in movies. 

Toronto and its iconic CN tower was our first destination before continuing on to Michigan to visit a friend of my parents from college. Then we headed  to South Dakota, home of  the Badlands and discovered where the h**! Wall Drug was. We drove down dusty roads and the music changed with the scenery as the station wagon rolled over the hills, giving way to views of endless prairies and sunrises and sunsets. We visited Mount Rushmore, Black Hills National Forest and one of my favorites-- to this day-- Badlands National State Park. It was there-- not the Grand Canyon, that I realized just how small I was in what was and is a much larger world than our own backyard-- our own state from which we came. 

As we crossed state lines, I filled my suitcase with postcards from our stops, and took pictures with a small Kodak camera with 110 film that would later have to be sent out to be developed. We drove through Montana and onto Wyoming where we went rafting on the winding Snake River, visited Grand Teton National Park and Yellowstone-- where Old Faithful geyser bubbled against a backdrop of bison roaming the plains. We were awed by Utah's Bryce Canyon and my sister and I were puzzled by the Mormons. In Nevada, my sister and I experienced the rush of the casino strip and gambling, and then a quiet lunch at Lake Tahoe, where my parents pulled off to stop for a picnic. Needles, California was just over the border, and will be remembered as the hottest night ever during our trip. It was over 100 F at midnight, and we barely slept atop our sheets that night. On the way to the bathrooms at the campground, we dodged large spiders and creepy crawly things that inhabited the showers. At sun up, we quickly packed up, and and were all grateful for the air conditioning in my grandparent's station wagon. 

We reached California and Knott's Berry Farm theme park was only one among the many stops during our time on the west coast. Traveling home, we drove through notoriously flat Kansas, Missouri, Kentucky, Washington D.C., Virginia, Pennsylvania, and back home to New York. 

My mother read books during the travels-- some travel books, some brochures to introduce us to the area that we were about to arrive in. We read bill boards and looked forward to what they promised. When I wasn't sleeping, my sister and I played car games, memorized the capitals of the states and what states were known for. We cooled off in pools at KOAs (Kampers of America) campgrounds and played in the arcades. We appreciated small things like clean bathrooms and eating pancakes prepared on a griddle set atop a two burner Coleman stove. Summer triggers memories of that special trip across the country. Music also plays a role in triggering memories. Whenever I hear Linda Ronstadt, The Eagles , or AC/DC's Back in Black album, I recall that summer and our family on the open road with the Rockwood trailing behind. We spent a lot of time together that summer, in small spaces. Not every moment was good, nor was it perfect. There was laughter. There were some tears. There was frustration with traffic and unfamiliar roads, and not navigating the atlas quickly enough. There was understanding. There was love.  We joked when we heard Peter Cetera's "Everyone needs a little time away" song on the radio as it being our theme song when we rolled the station wagon back into New York.

It's one week into summer, and we still don't have the answer to "where are you going on vacation?" We still don't know. We may stay right here on our porch or sway in the hammock, sipping a cold beverage with a good read. Or, one of these summers, we may hit the road. For now, the road isn't calling me. Adventure may come in the form of finding some new spots to launch our kayaks, spending time at the town pool or sitting beneath a shade tree and watching the hummingbirds flit from feeder to feeder, or learning a few new chords on my guitar. Vacationing gives us an opportunity to seek fulfillment. I don't know if I will ever have an adventure like I did that summer of 1982, driving out west with my family. I hope one day. Some times, however,  we don't have to travel far at all to find a sense of fulfillment. It's closer than we think.