If there is something between primitive-living and car camping that is exactly what we experienced yesterday. My parents have a cabin in the mountains. Close to N. Wilkesboro, West Jefferson, and round the corner from the Blue Ridge Parkway. Rustic. It might be an overstatement. It has walls. A roof. Beds. A refrigerator that does not hum, it cranks and whirrs like a chainsaw in the hands of a serial killer (that is until it bit the dust about an hour before we left). No a/c, no TV, no internet access, and no running water.
But what it lacks in what are really unnecessary amenities, it makes up for in stunning views of the Blue Ridge mountains for miles and miles, hiking trails at every turn, and the kind of you get a line, I'll get a pole, we'll go down to that crawdad hole entertainment that makes a 9, 7, 3, and 20 month old stunningly and purely full of joy.
I caravaned up with my parents yesterday, my car loaded with all the kiddies. It was a rocky start. People complaining about how loud someone else is (they are all pretty amplified), when do we get there, I don't want to get on the highway, I have to go poo-poo, don't wake up your sister, I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, don't put that in your mouth, I have to pee-pee, there's the mountain, I see the mountain, why aren't we at the mountain yet when I can see the mountain. We made a pit stop, took care of potty business, got out some snacks and drinks, stretched our legs, and began the last quick leg of our trip with a renewed spirit of this is going to be fun (as soon as we get the heck out of this car).
Shortly after we arrived, we took our first hike of the day down to Laurel Creek. Along the way we encountered two golden dogs. One was a retriever. The other, I just don't know. He was pretty crusty. That was the name I gave him, but the boys settled on Scruffy. Heath named the other Sam (after a favorite friend, and a favorite fireman). Sam and Scruffy hiked along the path with us. They fished in the creek with us. They helped save Heath's shirt when he decided to take it off and throw it down stream. Heath's cousins saved his shoes. His shovel. And his shirt again. It was a good 100 degrees, so the cold water of the creek was too much to resist, so even Stella stripped down to a diaper and took a dip. Crawdads the size of my palm scooted through the water. Sam and Scruffy followed us all the way back to the house and lingered in the yard, pretty much becoming a part of the family for the duration of our stay.
Our second hike of the day was at Doughton Park. Granny hung back at a shaded picnic table, while the rest of us braved the broiling heat and steady incline of the trail that promised breathtaking views of the mountains. I only made it halfway, the allure of some rock climbing sidetracked Stella.
Needless to say, no naps and some serious outside play time made for incredibly tuckered out kids (and adults). That's why I was so surprised at 4:30am when I heard Heath say, Get on the bed, mama. Get on the bed. We were sharing a bed, and I was on it. I guess he was dreaming and talking in his sleep, until he was awake and talking about seeing Sam and Scruffy and definitely not going back to sleep.
We made an early morning trek back to the creek. Sure enough, Sam and Scruffy met us out on the path and spent the entire day with us. They even brought a third golden dog, Levi. All three pups joined Heath and my youngest nephew for our second hike up to the top of the mountain. They brought shovels and buckets. They were looking for silver, gold, emeralds, possibly diamonds. Heath also suggested dinosaur bones. Going up, everyone was very excited about their equipment, the sunshine, wearing shoes. Coming back down, people, shoes, shovels, water bottles, they all needed to be carried. Carried by me.
I was a little sad to leave today. I wanted to be back to see Mark on his birthday. And waking up at 4:30am will make you miss your bedtime routine, and your bed, and your shower, and your potty, and internet, and TV, and a/c, and...
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