Feast After Famine: Camping with Pap Pap - Year 2

My father forgot to pack the forks. He took the kids on the annual Fourth of July camping trip, pitched their tents, played soccer, took them on a hike through the forest and helped them make gnocchi for dinner. But he forgot the forks.

So, I drove back to the small campsite on the hillside overlooking the Patuxent River to deliver apple sauce, extra ice packs and plastic forks.

As I edged the car along the gravel and over the crest of the hill, I caught sight of my father standing atop a picnic bench, strumming a makeshift guitar and rocking out to a song I couldn't hear but guessed to be some kind of rockabilly tune. 

If I had had a drink in my mouth, I would have spit it out from laughing so hard. 

Last year at this time, I spied my father from this same spot. He was putting the final touches on the campsite—on an adventure—that he invited his grandchildren to share with him. That time, my heart melted. This time it smiled. 

My three oldest stood next to one another across the table from him and laughed at their Pap Pap's antics. As I drove closer, I saw my nephew in a chair smiling too. Elvis Presley tunes played from the small radio as I handed the cutlery to my father. Pasta pots boiled on cook stoves nearby and Desmond tossed spent ammo shells in the dirt. 

"Nice music," I said. "You play the guitar well."

My father laughed. "You saw that?"

I dropped off the rest of the goods, hugged and kissed everyone and tried not to worry it might be the last time I see them. My anxiety was in overdrive. 

"Have fun!" I yelled. "I love you!"

An intense thunder and lightning storm woke the campers early the next morning, and filled Josephine and Esme's tent with puddles of water. They were soggy but excited when we arrived to eat breakfast with them. Like last year, my father put Esme to work cracking eggs and Josephine set the table (my nephew left early and Desmond was having trouble getting changed out of his pjs). 

Esme took me on a short walk to see "the pond," an oversized puddle where tadpoles turned into frogs overnight. 

Then we all set off to investigate the forest. 

They showed us Wood Duck houses they found the day before and led us to a bridge they insisted that we all cross. 

Even my mother.

We brought home more than wet, filthy clothes and damp sleeping bags. I found a slug in the kitchen sink (it had latched on to one of the metal forks the kids used to roast marshmallows) and an Elvis Presley CD stashed in Esme's backpack. Thanks again, Dad! You're the best. 

Rock on!