It was August in northern New York, and the leaves still shone an optimistic green. But Labor Day was closing in, and my wife Lisa and I would soon join millions of other parents as empty nesters: our daughters Grace and Sophie were headed for college.
This called for a last hurrah – a weekend away together doing something we all loved: camping. As residents of the Adirondacks, picking a place to camp was akin to living at the Louvre and saying you’d like to go check out some paintings.
We decided on Cranberry Lake. Once plentiful with cranberry bogs, the lake is the third largest in the ADKs and covers nearly 7,000 acres. Online, the state-run campground seemed lovely, with many of the tent sites connected to their own beaches. It was drive-in, easy access, and at $20 a night wouldn’t break the bank. We made reservations for that weekend.
On Friday, we hauled our old camping gear and tent out of the barn and loaded the SUV with coolers, sleeping bags, an antique Coleman lantern, and other accessories. I even brought a hatchet.
“What’s that for?” Lisa asked.
“Bears,” I said.
Lisa sighed like a woman who’d known me a very long time.
We arrived at camp around dinnertime, and the site was better than we’d imagined: we had plenty of room for the car and the tent, and there was a newish picnic table and a decent fire ring. It was all ensconced by a vibrant mix of redcedar, Douglas fir, spruce, maple, and spindly white birch. Even better, there was a path leading down to our own secluded beach. Before emptying the car, we convened waterside to say how happy we were to be all together like this before autumn came and swooped us back up into school and work and life’s more tedious realities.
That’s when we heard the dogs.
We all turned our heads simultaneously to find that our campsite neighbors had a platoon of Siberian huskies bounding about. I counted three.
“I see four,” Sophie said.
“Wait, are there five?” Grace asked.
And the dogs weren’t shy about barking. Over and over.
Free concert notwithstanding, we unloaded the car and set up our walk-in tent. Lisa chopped vegetables, and I started a fire. I heard the dreamy call of the wood thrush spiral down between the branches as a woodpecker tapped out his approval. All around us, the air held a sweetness that made our voices lighter. The girls explored and discovered a tiny faerie house made of birch bark and acorn caps at the base of a tree. I grilled some hot dogs and we all had a little wine. When the stars came out, the dogs finally hushed, and we watched the sky. Magic.
Around 5:00 the next morning, we heard the first drops of rain spatter our tent. I noticed that Lisa was awake.
“You up?” I whispered.
“Yeah, the ground’s killing me. Are those tree roots?”
I felt the same thing and winced.
“Maybe,” I said.
“And what’s with the rain? Forecast called for a beautiful weekend.”
And as if on cue, the sky opened. The rain didn’t let up. For lunch we ate soggy turkey sandwiches and sat in the car with the heat on. At least the downpour muffled the dog barks.
We decided to drive in to town for a little exploring. The only places open were the Save A Lot grocery and a Dollar General.
“One of them has to have ice cream,” Lisa said, hopeful. We could only find sherbet.
By the time we got back to our site, the rain had stopped, and a dense fog enveloped everything. I got a fire going and soon noticed a small procession waddling up the hill. In a matter of seconds, we were surrounded by ducks. A dozen of them.
“What do they want?” Grace asked through a mouthful of Triscuits.
I stared at her for an extra beat until she looked down at the box. We finally cleared the space of waterfowl, and our noisy neighbors had hit the road. Late afternoon sun broke through the clouds and the heat felt good on our faces. The fog burned off between the trembling ferns. Any disappointments we’d experienced now seemed more myth than reality. We all got into our bathing suits.
Lisa and I stood waist-deep in the water as the girls kicked and laughed, propelling themselves on an inner tube toward a nearby island. I reached out and found Lisa’s hand. And as we stood there, marveling at it all, I realized we couldn’t have asked for a more Louvre-worthy sunset.