To the place I belong

Somewhere in my dad's basement sits a disorganized collection of slides and negatives, amongst which are pictures of my sister and me sitting on a log. Taken every August save a few, they're not terribly thrilling separately, I suppose, but when viewed in chronological order they're like a time lapse of the two of us growing up from the time we were toddlers to the time she had a toddler of her own. The photos also chronicle the changes to the place: trees growing, trees cut down, the disappearance of our fallen log (chainsawed for firewood), etc.

For as long as I can remember, my family has been visiting the same campsite up in the Snowy Range of southeast Wyoming, along the Medicine Bow River where it flows out of the woods and into a large meadow called Stillwater Park. But surprisingly, perhaps, for all the added wear and tear from countless other campers, the place remains largely as I remember it. I hadn't actually been there in 5 or 6 years, so I was glad it worked out to join the family there again. I could still practically navigate my way around in the dark, from the bowed Douglas fir at the edge of the slope towards the water to the patch of wild huckleberries near the old 4-wheeler trail, from the sentinel tree in the meadow through the knee-deep grass to the wild strawberries by the willow thicket, from the fish-cleaning rocks in the stream to the Black Forest around the first bend upstream, from the rough entrance off the road through the old clear-cut area to Little Creek. In some ways, it feels more like home than anywhere else.

Time has certainly had its way with the family, though, and the nuclear unit has sort of detonated all over the place. But despite the potential for conflama, the weekend went smoothly with my dad and his wife in their trailer tucked away amongst the trees, Mom and her boyfriend in a tent nestled behind the pop-up trailer housing my sister and her family nearer the water. Across the small dusty clearing a gaggle of cousins on my father's side had also set up camp - none of whom I had seen since Grandma's funeral 4 1/2 years ago. And I borrowed a tent from Dad which I set up in the middle distance.

So even though my tennies didn't hold up so well in the wet grass with all the rain Saturday, it was a lovely weekend. I didn't want to leave. If I could figure out how to live up there, I'd totally do it.

Oh dammit, we forgot to take another photo of Nikole and me.