The Summers of my Youth

Tonight I have been reflecting on the summers of my childhood. Summer makes me think of camping. Not the "Colorado" kind of camping that my husband forces me into... where you strap a backpack and 50 pounds of gear and food on your back and climb up and over 14,000 ft hills... The Wisconsin kind of camping... where you throw everything you own into small tin trailer and drag it behind your truck... This was the camping of my youth, and I LOVED it.

My grandma and grandpa D. have been camping since before I was born. They owned multiple variations of a Mallard trailer and would camp most weeks of the summer months. For one lucky week, each of the grandkids were able to tag along. There are 5 of us grandchildren -- and we would spend most of the spring in deep discussions attempting to determine the ideal camping combination -- who was going to go camping with one another, and what was the best week to go?

The weeks prior to camping, we would get our "gear" ready. Make sure our bike was in working order. Hit the library for some reading material. Make sure the Uno and Skipbo were packed. Use our allowance money on a combination of candy and gum. And make sure that Grandma and Grandpa had packed the cereal... the Kellog's variety pack of tiny cereal boxes that would allow us to sample all of our favorite sugar cereals -- the kind that Mom NEVER allowed us to eat at home.

We camped at J.W. Wells State Park in Upper Michigan. It was a three hour drive from home -- with several key roadside attractions that indicated our progress on the drive. The A&W where we stopped for lunch. The GIANT chicken statue in Peshtigo, WI; and the statue of horses pulling a trailer full of logs that indicated we were leaving WI and entering the promised land of the U.P.

J.W. Wells State Park will always hold a special place in my heart. I've probably biked more miles in that park than anywhere else in my entire life. It was always a contest to see who could put the most miles on their bike during the week of camping. There were times that we topped 100 miles... peddling around in circles for hours at a time each day...and on a 3 speed.

There were nightly campfires with stories and s'mores. And pudgie pies. Who knew that cherry pie filling and white bread could be so satisfying when heated over the coals of a campfire?

But, really, the best part of my summer camping experience was spending time with my grandma and grandpa. I'm not sure I knew it back then -- but I certainly realize it now. In that week each summer, I had a chance to spend quality time with my grandparents. I will forever carry the memories of my time with them in my heart. It was during those summer trips that I realized my dad probably got his temper from my Grandpa. (They both liked to yell, and for some reason I was usually on the receiving end of a really loud lecture. The most memorable was when I threw a frisbee into some poison ivy. Can't say Grandpa was too pleased... he doesn't remember the conversation that followed. But I'll never forget). I also learned that my Grandma wasn't as patient as she liked to let on... and pigtails and braids were not her strong suit. But she tried. (SIT STILL. IF YOU WOULD STOP FIDGETING THIS WOULD GO FASTER. IT HURTS TO BE BEAUTIFUL, THAT'S WHY I NEED TO PULL SO HARD TO GET THESE BRAIDS IN.)

The nostalgia is bittersweet. First because my Grandma is slowly losing her memory. I realize I now need to remember these days for the both of us. And second because I'm struggling knowing that my son will most likely not have these same experiences or the same kind of relationship with my parents. I was so lucky to have such a close relationship with my Grandma and Grandpa... and much of that was because we lived in close proximity. But now here I am in Colorado. And my mom and dad -- Sweet Pea's Grandma and Grandpa D. -- live far away in Wisconsin. They talk to him on the phone, I send photos and video. We visit as much as we can... but it's not the same... and it's not near enough. And it breaks my heart to know that it's not enough for them, either. My husband's family is here -- we are lucky to have such great family in Colorado to be a part of Sweet Pea's life... And I love my life and I love the home I've made in Colorado... but I feel guilty knowing how my decisions have impacted MY parent's ability to know their grandchild.

So tonight... as I reflect upon the summers of my youth... I realize that I have an important job to do. I have to teach Sweet Pea about the family I hold dear and make sure that he has every opportunity to be involved with them. I want him to be able to tell stories about the time he spent with his Grandma and Grandpa D. I hope that those stories include fishing, and camping, and s'mores, and summertime in Wisconsin... and I hope that those stories are some of the best memories of his childhood, too.