retained annals of history, july, 2001

Well then, do check out Gypsy Traveler’s Richardson Daily News series. It is wonderful and added insight into my North Carolina Tejas. So I thought I’d toss a mountain memory into hopper as well. Of course true to fashion, I’ve got several spiritual lessons that I believe are illustrated here, but I leave you to hear them yourself.
Usually when the kids and I take off with a tent and fishing poles and head to the mountains, it’s without Allison. Not because she doesn’t enjoy it – au contraire, she enjoys it very much. It’s just that our schedules rarely match so that we can all go. Allison and I spent a week in a tent when she was 6 months pregnant with Molly and again the following summer when Molly was 8 months old.
The kids and I have had some great trips, gorgeous weather and in all seasons. But on the rare occasion that Allison gets to go, it always rains. Not just a dampening of an otherwise sunny experience, but a gully washing, basin flooding, fish drowning constant downpour.
Such was the case last time we went. We arrived late on a beautiful Monday evening and decided to set up camp, build a fire, and have some supper. We had to hurry to set up before dark set in (early in the mountains you know). Just before we got the tent stakes all down, a dark cloud rolled over the mountain, set up camp and opened on us. We quickly set up the tent, drenched and climbed in. It rained until Thursday morning broke with the most beautiful washed blue sky God ever hung above the mountains.
Well, five people in a tent with everything we’d brought, gets old quickly. A hundred hands of Rummy only takes so long you know. So we ventured out in the rain the next day. Walked along the river in the rain. Checked out some trails in the rain. Fished unsuccessfully in the rain. Carefully, shed wet clothes and crawled back into the wet tent to scrounge for some wet food. We’d be in the tent for a little while and the kids would ask to go back out. By the end of the day, they’d worn and soaked and muddied every article of clothing they had. Allison was worried sick because everything was caked in mud. Socks, underwear, pajamas. Poor kids, how can they enjoy this trip if they’ve got mud in their underpants? Soon it became apparent though, that fun camping is not contingent upon having no mud in your underpants. After this realization, the rain became fun. You can’t escape it, might as well enjoy it. Makes great camping stories after the fact.
When Thursday morning broke beautiful, we ventured further from the tent. The river was magnificent with all the extra water. Waterfalls were exploding off the mountains. Every creature that had holed up all week was out playing in the sunshine.
That evening, Jack caught a rainbow trout, and next morning we were able to build a fire, cook the solitary fish and all three kids stood in front of me like little birds while I fed bites to each of them in turn. No one remembered the rain as they stood there in dry, stiff clothes with dried dirt in their underwear and breathed the baptized mountain air.

The kids and I have been back several times since, but Allison didn’t go, so of course, there was no rain.