Summer Memories

Did you have a certain place you went every summer growing up? For me, it was Lake Siskiyou Campground, located near Mount Shasta. I don't remember the details of every trip, but I know that my family liked to drive up to Lake Siskiyou every summer. It's frustrating to me that I don't recall more details. I wish I did. Growing up with five siblings, we obviously had built-in friends to play with, and occasionally our grandparents or relatives joined us for the trip, or at least parts of the trip. Sometimes we'd take a day to travel across the Oregon border and take a walk around Ashland and either grab a bite to eat or do some shopping.

There are a few specific memories of the trips we took to Siskiyou growing up that stand out.

WAKING UP
First of all, there was the "getting there" that stands out the most. Going to bed the night before leaving to Lake Siskiyou was filled with great anticipation. It was probably more nerve-wracking than Christmas Eve, I'd say. We would also look forward to our bedroom lights going on at a crazy early hour, like 5am or something! Crazy, right? My dad would be loading up our brown, battered 1969 Dodge Van with everything we had in our garage. My siblings and I would be setting up our blankets, books, and things in the back seats, which were benches, so we could enjoy the trip. Through the center of the van was actually the engine, which would warm up during the trip. And you know what? We loved those trips up and back.

We looked forward to arriving at certain rest stops. In fact, there was always one rest stop by Lake Shasta where we could see house boats and water skiers and how high or low the water level of the lake was. We also knew that it was the last rest stop before we reached our destination. And there was always some shade there and we just looked forward to it. We had fun on our trips there and back.

FISHING
You have to understand that a fish would have better luck catching me than I would ever have catching a fish. But my dad, and Casey, my older brother, (to an extent) had an idea of what they were doing with a fishing pole. It was always the activity that had the most appeal and drama attached to it, because you never knew what you were going to pull out of the lake, if you were lucky enough to catch anything. Once or twice we may have rented a boat from the dock to see if we could bring home a bounty of fish. I can't remember a single bite or anything materializing out of those trips. I'm sure having me aboard the boat wasn't exactly increasing the odds in our favor.

Nevertheless, we would often drive a stop or two further from the beach to a little pier where my dad liked to fish. Us kids would spend the time near where the shore met the pier while my dad and Casey went further out to fish. But I am pretty sure we had more luck, in general, playing in that little area by the shore than they did trying to reel in a fish. We noticed the baby fish, and some were bigger than others, and liked to see if we could get ahold of them. There were also the mysterious crawdads that would emerge from underneath rocks that we were partially afraid of, and on the other hand, completely in awe of.

One occasion stands out where Casey actually got a bite and caught a fish. An actual fish. I believe there might have been a minor debate in regards to whether or not he, or our friend, Rachel, who joined us for the trip, actually caught the fish. But Casey was credited with the catch. I remember as we all were amazed at the *actual* fish he brought home in our 1969 Dodge Van back to the campsite. We then had to watch the ritual cleaning and cooking of the fish and see as Casey ate it how the whole fishing experience came full circle.

Beyond that, we did not grow into expert fisherman by any stretch of the imagination. That mostly had to do with our short attention spans (or perhaps just mine) and lack of willingness to listen and learn things. In retrospect, that was a huge mistake. Though I chose to remember how to play the piano. So, thank God for small favors.

STITCHES
After being tied up and pushed into a gravel walkway in my backyard by Casey shortly before the summer, I wound up needing stitches in my chin. The quick story behind my injury was due to our reenactment of a TV show. Anyhow, one memory that stands out was the removal of said stitches. After breakfast, I believe, we decided to have the stitches from my chin removed. Visiting a local hospital and having them properly removed probably would have been too easy. We were outdoors. We needed to rough it. So, naturally I took a position on our picnic table at the campsite and I believe my family tied my arms and legs to each end of the table (ok, I made that part up) and Dr. Dad climbed onto the table and proceeded to operate. Before long, (and I'm not sure how bloody of a mess I was) the stitches came out.

Years later, when that same chin had stitches removed from one of my many (but non-concussional) basketball injuries, I realized that having stitches removed is far less barbaric and relatively painless. Who knew?

THE LEG-TYING INCIDENT WITH MARY
My recollection of this event is very fuzzy, but the novelty and creativity of the solution to our problem, from a parental point-of-view, which I now have with three lovely children of my own, stands out with great poignancy. Apparently, my little sister, Mary, and I were having a not-so-fun time "playing" together, to the point of driving everybody crazy.

The solution? My dad, mom, or both parents, decided to get a rope - we had rope - and tether us together by the ankles. We then had to figure out a way to get along, first and foremost, and then to navigate our way around the campsite and to the nearby playground. I'm not sure we were able to use any playground equipment that way. The see-saw, slide, and swings would have been rather tough for a couple of kids to use tied together at the ankles. Still an ingenious idea.

SEE-SAW
Speaking of the see-saw, or teeter-totter, there's a piece of playground equipment that I don't think any of my brothers or sisters or I will forget. Or perhaps just my older brother. One year we were surprised to find a little playground set up near the campsite. We found a pair of see-saws there that were easy enough to use, but given a little bit of time, and a wicked sense of humor, became a lot of fun to play ... er, torture each other with.

You probably know how the see-saw works, but our version of playing with the see-saw was an act of pre-meditated punishment inflicted by the first person that was down. With the other person up, we had our choice of simply getting off of the see-saw and watching gravity do its work, or pushing up so quicky it made the other hit the ground with a thud, or not using your feet to slow your downward descent and making the person going up take a bump that might have sent them forward and off of the see-saw. Don't ask me how no one ever split their head in two with the see-saw, but there were moments when I wondered. I'm sure we might have gone back to the campsite a couple of times (or many) in tears.

TOWN
Going to the nearby town was always one of the highlights of the trip. As kids, going to the pizza parlor was always at the top of the list. Sometimes we brought the pizza back to our campsite. One time, we actually invited the sister missionaries from the local church all the way to our campsite to have a dinner appointment.

We had a favorite store where we would get a scoop of ice cream but the scooper was in a cylindrical shape and so that made it even more special, I suppose.

Weed, California, is a little town with a funny name that we'd swing through every once in a while. The College of the Siskiyous is located there, but it was mainly funny because it was like naming a town after an illegal drug that got us laughing whenever we went there.

One night we went to a drive-in movie and I want to say it was one of the Star Wars movies. But I just remember it because we were trying to watch the show and there was this major electrical storm erupting in the distance that was far more exciting, and just a bit scary, to watch. And we knew that we were going to have to drive through the two-lane, darkened, roads all the way back to the campsite from town after the movie, that made it even more scary.

JETS
One year my dad took us on a trip through the mountains or something. All I remember is that my grandma was in the van and we were on a winding, narrow, one lane road on the side of a cliff. My dad was creeping the van uncomfortably close to the edge of the road near the cliff, or so I seem to remember my cool-as-a-cucumber grandma suggesting, when all of a sudden all hell broke loose. And I'm still amazed we didn't gun it or go sailing off the cliff. But my dad held it together. Must have been his military background or knowledge and love of aircraft that kept us alive at that moment.

Directly in front of us, and it seemed pretty darn close, a couple of jets came ZOOMING across the front of our van. I mean, we could see the vehicle ID numbers on the windshield of those jets in the moment that time stood still as they flew in front of us. That's how close they were. And at first we just saw these beautiful, colorful, jets. But when the sound hit us, that was another wave of terror. Can 8 people pee in their pants at the same time? It felt like we had a chance because the size of the sound that these jets left in their wake was terrorizingly LOUD. At that point, talk of driving too close to the edge or doing anything but staying alive and breathing stopped. I don't remember the rest of that outing. Just the jets.

FLYING M RANCH
A couple of times we stayed at Siskiyou but then drove up to a little country town by the name of Yamhill, which is where my dad's family lives. We'd stay at a place called The Flying M Ranch where we'd spend time with our aunts, uncles, cousins, and grandparents. I believe my grandma worked there. But it was cool because we would stay in a cabin. The bunk beds were like 40 or 50 feet off the ground where my siblings and I slept. We'd go and have picnics with our extended family.

There was a little spot to swim in that had a wooden plank in the middle of it to swim to. Airplanes would arrive and depart on a landing strip near the main lodge. It was fun to watch them come and go. The main lodge was cool because of the many animals they had on the walls, including the massive buffalo that greeted you at the front entrance. Near the kitchen were pictures of a movie featuring Erik Estrada that was filmed there. It was about fighting a forest fire or something.

We had fun catching crawdads and cooking them up with our cousins. I remember a couple of occasions where my dad would go out with his brothers and they'd bring their guns so we could go shooting. I fired a rifle, handgun, and shotgun for the first and only times in my life. I seem to remember my brother and cousin taking a .22-rifle and shooting at salamanders in a creek or something like that. Again, fuzzy memories.

PORTLAND
While staying at The Flying M, we would then drive out to civilization and visit my mom's family in Portland. Her brother Jay stayed in a place out in Portland with his wife, Carol, and their kids, Greg and Chris. We'd swim in their pool, have lunch, and then go into Portland to see the stores there. We did that maybe once or twice. But I remember it.

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I've got fond memories of many fun-filled summer adventures with my family. My folks were always thinking of ways to have fun together when the school year ended, and I'm not sure how all much fun they had taking six kids anywhere to do anything. I've got three and can't imagine what going on a camping trip would look like. But I credit them a great deal for thinking of us and bringing us out together where we could learn more about each other, rely on each other, spend time together, and have fun making memories that -despite their fuzzy condition - would last a lifetime.

These days, getting together on vacation with my own family involves about 30 something people. My older brother and sister now have spouses and three children each. My little sisters are married and have three children each. Kari and I have missed a few of the outings due to things like my teaching summer school, or us having a baby. We did manage to squeeze in one trip to Lake Siskiyou a few years back. Last summer, Claire was able to go to Lake Siskiyou with my family.

In 2007, my family - all 23 of us at the time -went to Disneyland. This year, my family is planning a trip to San Diego. I see the value in the trip because I fondly remember all the trips we took. But we have people now coming from Maryland, New York, and Idaho, which means that these trips are much more complicated to coordinate. We're not being awakened at 5am in our bedroom to go to the van anymore. We have our own kids to wake up and entertain every day. Hopefully we can do as good of a job as our folks did for us!