Mama – Day 68, 69, and 70

My spouse knew my son and I needed to get away. Yes, Long Island was wonderful, but we needed to really escape to a place that wasn’t saturated with memories of Dad. Besides, this remote learning has taken a toll on her and she needed a mini-vacation as well. Therefore, she booked a camping trip for us — this weekend, the first that Pennsylvania campsites were open. We crossed the boarder — it was mandatory. My first rule in camping, I will go anywhere, as long as it is not in New Jersey. (Of course Cub Scout camping trips used to be the exception to that rule.) Several years ago, we had gone to Reed’s Gap in Lancaster County. We really enjoyed it. The campsite was relatively remote, and there are only 14 sites in the entire campground. It seemed the perfect place to go and yet still be able to practice social distancing.

We got up early on Friday, but the weather forecast kept us from rushing out the door. Rain all day. Ugh! Not what you want to see on your weather app just before camping. But it’s me, and we are used to living under my dark cloud. Even more, we are accustomed to camping in a torrential downpour. And honestly, this won’t surprise you, I would chose camping in a hurricane over spending a night in this condo.

Packing the car always falls to me. I may not have many skills in life, but when it comes to packing lots of gear into a limited amount of space, I am a superstar. If only that skill were marketable, I’d be a millionaire. Looking at the pile of bags in the living room that needed to fit into the car, and the pile in the garage — not to mention all the firewood — my spouse and I had our doubts. But I do enjoy the challenge, the adrenaline rush. It’s like an advanced game of Tetris, and by the time I am finished, there is not a centimeter of unused space anywhere.

Of course, my son complained that he didn’t have enough room, but the sleeping bags and bags full of clothing in the back seat made excellent pillows when he napped. And we love it when he naps, because it means silence — no complaining. 

The drive was about three hours west, and we weren’t on the road long when the forecast proved accurate. The first of many raindrops splashed onto the windshield, and we groaned at the prospect of setting up the tent in the rain. We had a few stretches when the clouds lightened and we thought maybe we’d get lucky, but luck is never anything that is on my side. About an hour away from our destination, my son and spouse were hungry. They suggested we stop at Burger King. I objected, claiming there wasn’t anything there I’d eat. I wasn’t terribly hungry, but I didn’t want to sit in the car and watch them eat either. My son informed me that I was wrong. “You can have the Impossible Whopper,” he told me. “The Impossible what? What is that?” And he explained that it was a plant based burger. I was shocked that he knew about it, but I shouldn’t have been. He likes watching commercials almost as much as he enjoys sitcoms.

It was mid-afternoon when we arrived at the campsite, rain dripping down on the car. There are worse things than rain, but the one thing I really hate doing in the rain is setting up a tent. You have to move at lightening speed. If you don’t, the inside of the tent gets wet, and that only makes for a miserable sleeping experience. But we managed fairly well, and once it was up, my spouse wanted to cook. None of us were hungry, but the heaviest rains were still to come — according to the forecast — and she wanted avoid barbecuing during the worst of it. I got the coals, poured them into the fire ring, doused them with lighter fluid, and set them on fire. To keep the coals protected and dry, my spouse stood over them with an umbrella. I tried to take a turn, but my lungs still have not completely recovered from the virus and the smoke hurt. We managed to get the food cooked, and then scuttled into the car to eat. It wasn’t the most comfortable meal, but we managed.

My son was upset that we couldn’t have a fire. He wanted to toast marshmallows. But it was too wet. By six o’clock the rain was coming down harder. We retreated into the tent where it was dry, to play Phase Ten — a card came. My son didn’t start well. He quickly fell behind and the further behind he fell the crankier he became, until my spouse and I started to cheat a little here and there so that he could catch-up. But not only did he catch up, he then surged ahead in the last round and pulled off a victory.

Our site was next to a stream, so between the rain tapping down on the tent and the stream rushing over rocks, I slept better than I had in a really long time. Although I still woke up in the middle of night thinking about Dad and feeling sad, but the water eventually lulled me back to sleep.

Saturday morning, we woke up to the sound of birds singing. I made egg sandwiches and hot chocolate at the camp site for breakfast. We then took a ride into the closest town to get ice. On the way, we saw a few Amish buggies. (After all, we were in Lancaster country.) My son asked, if the Amish — considering what an isolated existence the live — know about the virus and the government’s reaction to it. It was a fantastic question, but I didn’t have an answer. We then speculated whether their lack of contact with the outside world would be a benefit or a liability. They may not know of the virus. They may not have clue that the rest of the country was in various stages of lockdown. But maybe, their lack of interaction would have kept them safe. I haven’t read anything about the Amish in regards the the coronavirus, but that doesn’t mean there hasn’t been anything written or reported.

When we returned, we took hike, which was more like a walk in the woods. The trail was rather flat, and not at all strenuous, but we had a pleasant time. My son, whose eyes are younger and sharper than ours, spotted a tiny pink salamander on the trail as well as toad. He insisted I take picture of them, which I did.

Back at the campsite, my son and spouse whittled, and I read National Geographic — I’m three months behind. My son also had fun hanging out by the stream, wading in up to his knees and tossing rocks. He’s always enjoyed throwing rocks and watching the splash.

There was no rain in the forecast, none at all, but that didn’t matter. I’ve told you I carry my own dark cloud with me. The moment I put the coals on, the second they caught fire, rain beat down upon us. Once again, we had to cook in the rain, but at least it didn’t last. By the time we were ready to eat, the rain stopped, enabling us to eat at the picnic table — although we had to stand, it was too wet to sit.

More importantly, from my son’s perspective, the fact that the rain stopped meant that we could have a campfire, and he could toast marshmallows. He decided, before slipping the marshmallow onto a stick, he’d stuffed it with an M&M. He made one for me. It was good, the melted chocolate added to the marshmallow experience. It was a graham crakerless s’mores. And since I don’t like graham crackers, it was perfect for me. While we sat around the fire we talked about Dad. In fact, we spent much of the day talking about him and telling stories. It all still seems so surreal. I hated not being able to text him pictures of my son. I hated even more knowing that when I got home, I wouldn’t be able to call him up and tell him about our trip. And when I or my spouse posts pictures, he won’t see them. He won’t be able to give them a heart or thumb-up.

Before bed, we took a family hike up to the bathroom. While my spouse waited for our son, she discovered how to make really cool shadow puppets with her flashlight and cell phone. The discovery mesmerized her. She took at least a dozen pictures of her shadows, completely awed by each of them. I think it may have been the highlight of her day.

This morning, we ate breakfast — egg sandwiches and hot chocolate — and then broke camp. But we didn’t want to head home. Not yet. It was still too early. And so we headed north to Pine Creek Gorge. Last fall, my spouse’s brother told her that it is absolutely gorgeous and that we should go hiking there some time. He told her it was considered to be the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania. We initially planned to detour there after the taekwondo tournament in Pittsburg back in March, but that was canceled shortly after the reality of the virus struck. 

While we drove on Pennsylvania’s back roads we saw many Trump Pence 2020 signs dotting lawns. I pointed them all out, disturbed that after nearly 100,000 people have died due to his incompetence people still like him. They still think he’s doing a good job. I’m sorry, but 100,000 people dead, one of whom is my father, is not evidence of job well done. And it may be coincidence, but as the signs multiplied people showed no consideration for others regarding the virus. We stopped in road side convenience stores twice. Both times, we were the only ones wearing masks. 

The drive to Pine Creek Gorge was only an hour and half. I was curious what a Pennsylvania Grand Canyon would look like. I visited the Grand Canyon twenty-five years ago. I wasn’t impressed. Maybe I had seen it too many times on television, or heard people talking about it too often. Whatever the reason, I can’t even list it as one the top ten awe-inspiring places I’ve ever been to. It might not even make the top 20. However, if the Grand Canyon was underwhelming Pine Creek Gorge was disappointing. But maybe that’s because we didn’t do our research before showing up. We got there and we weren’t even sure where to park. The GPS said we had arrived, but there was no where to pull over or park. So we drove a bit longer until we found a tiny parking lot, so small there were no spots left. We ended up parking along the side of the road and then following others onto a carriage way and over a bridge. From the carriage way, we did see a trail head off into the woods and up the mountain and so we followed it. At every crossroads, we let our son choose which direction to go, and he chose the steepest path each time. And when I say steep, I mean at times if felt almost vertical. Unlike yesterday, this trail was physically challenging. Every time my son announced that we were almost at the top, we’d get there, only realize around another bend we needed to keep climbing. We walked for an hour an a half — and that included lengthy breaks for water and trail mix — until the path finally seemed to level off. My spouse was so hot that she complained she was sweating in places she didn’t even know existed. At this, my son laughed. Since we didn’t have a map, and therefore, didn’t know how long the trail was or if it even looped back to where we started, we turned around. I wanted to make sure my son and spouse would have enough stamina to make it back to the car. They are both too heavy to carry. 

Nothing we saw, not a single thing, even remotely reminded me of the Grand Canyon. We saw trees, lots and lots of trees, a few rocks, and occasionally we caught glimpses of the road and the river below. But that was it. Perhaps we were just in the wrong place. Most likely, we missed the right trail. Next time we go back, and I’m sure we will, we will go armed with a trail map and I will make sure we do a bit more research on the best place to park.

Back at the car we ate a late lunch —  sandwiches — along the side of the road. My son observed that he felt like he was poor and living out of his car, and wondered what other people thought as they passed by and saw us eating there.

Since we ate a late lunch, when we got back to New Jersey, we stopped for ice cream for dinner. But my son and I had wet walnuts as our topping, and considering the portion of protein, I argued that it wasn’t completely unhealthy.

Snapshot Rewind

Sometime in the early 1990s: My brother threw the cards. Every one remembers that he was the one who threw them, but somehow when referencing the incident, my father almost always commented, “And then Liz threw the cards.” Because it fit my personality, not my brother’s.

We had been playing Hearts. It was one of Dad’s favorite card games, one he almost always won. At night, out on Long Island, we would sometimes play. It was always a fun family game night. But on that one particular occasion, something pissed-off my brother. None of us remember what, but for him to threw the cards it had to have been a big deal. All I remember is the cards hitting me — they may have hit the wall — but my memory has them hitting me. 

And in the following years, Dad liked to laugh as he infuriated me by saying, “Remember when Liz threw the cards.”