Day 107 Fourth of July and Camping

Fourth of July & Camping      Day 107

 The Fourth of July was a quiet day for me, parade, at home and then fireworks. There was a continuity of sorts, a salute to flags, and red, white and blues. A hello/goodbye to family, potato salad, watermelon and lights across the darkened summer skies. The weather was perfect; a warm summer day with cool breezes to relieve any discomfort.

I was up at five and the drove my truck down to the parade route laden with chairs for family. The streets were empty, little indication of the festities to come. We set up chairs in the traditional spot and then wove a length of rope through them all. I backed the truck in and our spot for parade watching was anchored.

The mile or so home we walked, me delighted that the last push up a hill through wooded patches I was able to walk without having to take a breather. There was a time I couldn’t take that hike without stopping several times.

      Later, near parade time we hiked back down and joined other extended family members gathering for the traditional small town parade. The children armed with buckets and bags eagerly awaited the start. And so there, with children, and grandchildren and shirt-tailed relatives I watched as fire trucks, logging trucks, floats, clowns and assorted groups of small town folk walked and rode past our spot.

     So much fun watching little ones, (and a few parents) scramble for the tossed candy. The excitement of watching the children eye the horses dressed in their Fourth of July finery. Finally the parade ended and everyone dispersed to their respective picnics. This year, for the first time in my life, I was alone on the Fourth. I sat at home peacefully eating my forbidden potato salad enjoying the afternoon of sun, and quiet and peace. I got a call and an invite to a picnic but I declined; I appreciated the offer but sometimes a quiet time it needed to mark the transition to a differing phase of life.

      For me, it is a transition to a different job, an immensely challenging thing for me to undertake, but one I feel is the open door God has provided. And, I am on the brink of being an empty nester after raising children non-stop for forty-two years. It will soon be me and the cats and dogs and early morning birds.

       The next day, early we set out and loaded our van with tent and cooler, food and stuff. A camping trip up the Columbia Gorge was planned and I had the joy of having a daughter, son-in-law and three grandchildren come along. We all piled in my beloved van, (finally rescued from the car lot where it didn’t sell after three months.) My daughter had worked hard and yummy, gooey cinnamon rolls made our early morning journey much more enjoyable. We left not knowing exactly where we’d camp but left knowing there would be vacant sites eventually. An incredibly beautiful bright sunny day greeted us as we drove down I-5 into Portland, catching I-84 East. The iridescent sheen of the Columbia River nestled quietly on our left as we drove further into the Gorge.

A favorite spot of hiking and camping has been for me and my family Eagle Creek, a unique campground nestled into the hills just past Bonneville Dam. There, early stonework walls and bridges and pathways bear tribute to the men who participated in the work crews, the CCC (Civilian Conservation Corp) that covered our nation during the Great Depression. They created trails and parks, and incredible buildings, leaving a legacy for those of us who followed.

 Eagle Creek trail, part of the famed Pacific Crest trail, starts up from the base of the creek and winds through the woods higher and higher. You could, if prepared, physically and with food enough hike that trail the length of Oregon, California into Mexico. It was a dream of mine in times past to do that, now, I believe I will accept just hiking portions.

The campgrounds, about a ½ mile through the woods are a non-reservation site. We drove up hoping a spot would be open. What we found were multiple open sites affording us the luxury of picking the best. We selected a huge site, capable of supporting six or more tents and there we set up our equipment.  Right behind our site, a beautiful trail wound down to the base of the creek. The younger grandchildren were a little hesitant to hike the trails and needed encouragement to walk along 
powered by their own strong young legs. 

     We took them across the hanging suspension bridge and took a trail to the East that followed the base of the creek. The played for a while in the creek, watching tiny fish, throwing rocks, basking in the sun.The older grandson found a perch in the middle of the creek and enjoyed the cold mountain stream while taking a short sun bath. The kids started to be restless and I encouraged everyone to hike up the trail headed towards the crest of the hill. The children hiked, were carried, and hiked several miles. We rested briefly at a lookout where we could see the Columbia River far below us, glistening in the sun.

We hiked back down the trail and went to where the River and Creek meet and found a place for the kids to play in the water. A rock wall was built to define a play area and the kids splashed and played testing their boundaries. We explored the path that bordered the Columbia River and enjoyed watching a fisherman land a huge, (over 6 foot) Sturgeon. The fisher man, measured the fish, looked up at us perched on a cliff above his head and called, “It’s too big, I have to let it go.”

A pathway led up to a unique group campsite called the Overlook but we discouraged the young children from going on it. They were eager to explore. Hiking back to the campground, my four year old grandson spied a new trail up the hillside. “Come on grandma,” he called. “It’s a secret trail!”  “We don’t know where it goes, maybe we’d better not.” I answered. He to my surprise and delight said, “Don’t’ worry Grandma, I’ve got a map in my pocket!”

So he and I took the secret trail pushing pack overgrowth to make our way up the hill that eventually reached the campground. There, hungry we made a fire and my daughter prepared camper’s stew. Ground beef, onions, potatoes cut and wrapped in foil. These huge packages were placed on the steel grates above the heat of the coals and fire. We waited, hungrily as our dinner cooked. My daughter is owner of a high tech pedometer, one that you wear as a bracelet and connects by wi-fi to phone, computer etc. She let us know we had walked eight miles that day. Tired, hungry the kids threw a Frisbee until finally the fragrant hot foil packets were opened and we ate campers stew with loads of sweet red ketchup.

Yummy cookies, soft chewy, oatmeal, chocolate chip, coconut “Gramma’s cookies, (my mom’s) and soft chocolate chip cookies waited in a large Tupperware container. We munched and enjoyed the fire. The kids wound down, as did I and we left the two older guys to discuss gaming, (X-Box) movies and ghost stories by the flickering firelight. Early the next morning I made my coffee and greeted my daughter and two small grandchildren. We hiked down the trail to the overlook and allowed the kids to explore the trail up to the overlook camp.  We hiked back and joined the other campers eager for breakfast. My daughter cooked thick slices of smoky bacon and piles of hot pancakes.

We packed up and headed out to explore Bonneville Damn. We took a tour of the plant, watched the fish through glass windows. Driving the road to the Damn I spied a sign that said Robin’s Island.  I secured a promise that I could get a picture with the sign later. Having looked at all the things in the Damn site itself we headed back to Robin’s Island and found a playground and park. We ate our lunch at a picnic table and allowed the kids time to enjoy the playground. I explored a trail that skirted the park and a covered picnic shelter. My daughter announced we’d walked four miles that day.

Tired finally we decided to head home and set out. Fifteen miles from home I asked to stop at a Wal-Mart and bought ice cream for everyone.  We dropped my family off, headed home and I fell asleep in my chair watching TV. It had been a good weekend.