Acknowledging a Reference

Summer Trip Day #5 – Almost Home Was This The Last Ride of Summer?

Acknowledging a Reference

Here is the story of how I know all these camping stories.

Chapter 10 -

The Camping Log

Iimagine that by now, you are completely amazed by my incredible memory. Sure,I've mentioned the home movies recording our every early trip. And many of ouradventures have been shared at every family get-together.

But at this point, I should give credit tomy most faithful source. The Camping Log. It is a bound grey composition book,with the name "C. Gudgeon" dimly penned in the upper right-handcorner of the cover. I have always guessed that C. Gudgeon purchased the book,and when he found it unnecessary, Dad snapped it up, hating to see anything goto waste. Or perhaps Dad bought it at the second-hand store for a nickel. Inever asked him.

Within these six-inch-by-six-inch pages,Dad and sometimes Mom recorded the names of the campgrounds where we stayed,the dates, the prices, and sometimes comments on the campgrounds. Theirdescriptions were very detailed, usually something like "Noisy" or"Crowded".

Prices ranged from free at some roadsideand city parks to $4.00 a night at the ultra-modern KOAs (Kampgrounds ofAmerica, the ones with the big A-frame offices). Some of those KOAs even hadinground, cement swimming pools, but we never did much more than dangle ourfeet in them, if that. Mom was sure we would drown if we went in up past ourknees.

In the mid-1970s, I took over most of therecording duties, putting in columns to write the date, mileage, city,campground, cost, and comments. Since we went both east and west several times,we occasionally stayed at the same campground.

One such place is Peaceful ValleyCampground in LeSueur, Minnesota. We camped there on June 11, 1969, and againon June 20, 1971. (That's where the picture above was taken.) The campground is still in operation, and from the images on itswebsite, it looks much the same. I've driven by it frequently after those yearsof camping with Mom and Dad because of Phyllis, who lives in the area.

Phyllis was Pat's good friend fromcollege. We shared dating horror stories after I divorced and Phyllis was notyet married. I quickly became her good friend, also. When she finally didmarry, it was to a man who owned a farm in LeSueur, Minnesota.

Then there was Powell State Park (akaSandy Beach). This park was located forty or fifty miles north of where welived, and anytime we were just out for a ride or on our way home from a trip,Dad would manage to pull through to check it out. We never stayed there when Iwas with. It wasn't until Pat and I were out of the house that Mom and Dadcamped there on a few weekend getaways.

Another place we often visited was the BigEau Plaine in Mosinee, Wisconsin. We frequently met Mom's cousin Doris and herhusband Richard there since they lived around Green Lake, and Mosinee was halfin between.

It was a nice enough county park, but theride there always struck fear into my heart. The road crossed the Eau PlaineRiver over a long one-lane bridge. I was always afraid another vehicle wouldstart across coming towards us as we were crossing and that they would run usoff the bridge and into the river.

Not only was it one lane for automobiletraffic, but the bridge also was shared by a railroad track. The biggest fearof my entire life was that halfway across the bridge, a train would start overfrom the opposite direction. I don't know why I was so terrified. The trainwould be on its track and not in our traffic lane, but I was certain the bridgewould collapse from the weight of both our camper and the train. Or, again,somehow run us off the bridge and into the water. I think I was genuinely terrifiedof drowning as a child.

Besides camping at the Eau Plainecampground, we often crossed the bridge to go to King's Campers on the otherside. Even though Dad was pleased with our pickup camper, he started to becomefascinated with fifth-wheel trailers, and every chance he got, he would stop ata camper dealer to look at them. We thought walking through each larger andfancier RV was always fun, too, sitting on the sofa and imagining we livedthere.

Of course, it didn't take much for mysister and me to think that something was fun.