Escapes

I had a day off a while back and had decided to go surfing. Upon arriving at the ocean, I discovered the surf sucked. But I was determined to do something outside this day. I spend upwards of forty hours a week in an air-conditioned vacuum and the guilt was becoming too much to bear. No, I was going to be outside today, if only for an hour or so. I remembered a nice little trail around some open space near my house and, best of all; I wouldn’t have to get in the car.

I took the camera and the binoculars and was on my way. I couldn’t remember the last time I had been on a hike and after giving it much thought, I still can’t. I had also forgot how a simple act like going for a walk really put life in perspective. It is so easy to forget about the escapes so close to us such as watching birds and listening to the wind in the trees. These may not be your personal escapes, but I hope everybody has their own.

It was during my hike that I remembered how much I used to enjoy the annual family camping trip. It was my personal escape from the hustle and bustle of adolescence for years. We usually went late in the summer, after the little league season was over, but also after most of the rivers had run dry. It was the last hoorah of the summer, with school beginning in a few short weeks. I call it a “camping” trip with some reservations. When my brothers and I were young (and small) my family would spend a week crammed into a large family tent. To this day, I have absolutely no idea how we managed to do it, but I do remember it being a ton of fun. Later when we were bigger and my dad had more money, we all stayed in a one-room cabin at Silver Lake on Highway 88. Eventually, we were able to stay in the “luxury” three-room cabins with the only luxury being the ability to separate myself from my dad’s snoring. But none of that mattered. It didn’t matter if it was Silver Lake or my aunts’ cabin near Donner Pass. It didn’t matter if it was overpriced Sorenson’s catering to BMW driving yuppies (we only stayed there once and I was witness to my mother crying at the news of Stevie Ray Vaughn’s death). What did matter was that we were out of the city.

Now, looking back, my childhood wasn’t all that stressful. There were some intense street football games and the heated phone calls if the paper route was running late, but all and all, it wasn’t so bad. The camping trip was always the pinnacle of the summer. My dad would stress that we needed to be packed the night before, because he wanted to get an early start. And every summer we would believe him, but we never left early. No, my dad had this little trick. He was always angry with us and/or my mother for something we had done or not done. The threat of calling off the camping trip due to this delayed departure for a few hours. After we were underway, the complaints from dad then revolved around getting such a late start.

Once at the “camping” site, the first goal was always to explore the surrounding areas. It didn’t matter if we had stayed at this particular site for the past three years; there were perimeters and outposts to be set up (God bless the Cold War for providing such fodder). My brothers and I would play the ultimate game of hide-and-seek culminating in all three of us sitting by what remained of the river and throwing rocks. I would sit and listen to the river and the birds and the trees while my brothers pushed and shoved each other. We could do this until it got too dark and cold, always postponing the trip back to our parent’s arguments until the last moment.

There was fishing, hiking, swimming and always a whole lot of just sitting around. Now, as an adult, I don’t get to go camping as much as I would like and it never seems as much fun as I remember it. If I can get the time off of work and can find an unreserved spot, the camping trip is never going to be what it once was. But I can still stop and wonder about how birds came to be so beautiful. I can still listen to the sound of a creek and the wind in the trees. Those escapes will always be the same.