Nine years ago my husband and I attempted to sleep in this tent.
And it was fine. I mean it wasn’t. I mean the tent was fine. It’s just that the lack of an air mattress between us and the ground left a literal damper on every joint we owned. And the memory didn’t really go away.
Two days ago, though, the kids and I camped with a group of friends at Lake Wenatchee.
Which was when I unraveled our only tent for the second time. And gasped that it hadn’t gotten any bigger.
Which didn’t matter in the least to these two.
This was home.
And crawling through ‘home’ with feet the color of asphalt made them happy.
Here’s Lake Wenatchee.
And here’s my son’s new same-age buddy.
Someone else who can crouch in half and pick at rocks.
Someone else who builds sand forts in the wave zone and wonders why they keep washing away.
Someone else who takes the transferring of sand from here to there VERY seriously.
Here’s our fire pit.
And our dinner. Sort of.
Here’s the rest.
After two days of hot dogs, that chicken leg brought hope.
To me, anyway.
My son forked his four bites down only because there was a s’more at the end of the tunnel.
I’m assuming it was everything he thought it would be.
Here’s my daughter’s new inseparable friend.
Someone she laughed with. Read with. Pretended with.
Someone she hiked alongside.
At a pace suitable for slugs.
Here they are at Hidden Lake. A one-mile round trip hike worth every second…
for the view alone.
Here are two of my friends–Holly on the left, Janine in the middle.
All of us seconds away from feet without feeling.
Then there’s little boys.
Side by side.
And here’s my little fam.
so pretty here.
But then it’s pretty here, too–back on the beach of Lake Wenatchee.
Where sand and a shovel never get old.
Where little boys with sweaty cheeks smile for their mommies.
And little girls test the water with their toes.
Where one more picture must be taken before we drive away.
And of the lot of us. Five moms. Eleven kids.
Finishing our tenting memory.