When there’s a toddler in the family, life is a series of firsts: first time swimming; first time on an airplane; first time at the ocean.
This weekend, we added another one: first time camping, at Oconee State Park.
Oconee State Park was one of the many parks created during the thirties by the Civilian Conservation Corps. Given all the “socialism!” and “socialist!” and “socializing!” noise of the last days, it seemed oddly appropriate that we cut ourselves off from the civilized world by going to a New Deal project. I felt brainwashed when we left, but not indoctrinated.
Our “rustic site,” deep in the woods and far away from the hordes of RV-ers, was just that: very spartan. A semi-flat spot for a tent, a picnic table, and a fire circle were the only things non-native.
L was immediately thrilled, particularly with the prospect of roasting marshmallows on the fire.
“And now we can,” began K, and L finished, “Marshmallows?”
“I’m going to bring that from the car, then we can,” I said, and L finished, “Marshmallows?”
When the time finally came, though, it turned out that marshmallow preference might be genetic: like me, she didn’t really care for the marshmallow but greatly enjoyed setting them on fire. K and I ate one each; L burned most of the remainder.
It being L’s first time out, we decided to make every effort to maintain our daily routine. L was more than happy to watch the fire rather than read a book as she readied herself for bed.
The next morning, another first: mini golf. L quickly developed her own style, and her own rules.
“I hear they’re going to count that as a legitimate stroke,” I said to a father of two one hole ahead of us as we both watched, laughing, L gently push her ball to the hole. “If the ball remains in contact with the club’s face, it’s one stroke.” Our neighboring golfer liked the rule.
She seemed to enjoy putting it into her pocket after every hole more than the actual game itself.
For others, it was all about the game.
In the afternoon, we did the logical thing: go swimming. The man-made lake was shallow but cold. L didn’t notice, though.
The water’s coolness was quite possibly a relief to some, considering their trajectories toward the water and the smack! of impact.
It was an afternoon of “again.”
“I want to jump!” cried L. “Again, and again, and again!”
No mini-vacation afternoon would be complete without ice cream. As a younger toddler, L took a while to appreciate the sweet chill of good ice cream. These days, there’s no question, no hesitation, and no doubt.
“Want some ice cream?” we asked, though only rhetorically.
And the question had to be well-timed. The swim in the lake would have lasted all but five minutes had she known we were planning on having ice cream afterward.
We headed to a playground, where we were surprised once again at how quickly L can pick up a new skill. All it took was seeing one little girl slide down the pole at the corner of the playground and L was begging to try.
The paddle boat was a slightly different story, though. It’s odd: L loves water, but she’s always very nervous doing something new around the water. The ocean terrified her, and the lake at the park initially didn’t calm her anxieties much.
Still, she was willing to try, provided we took a blue boat.
A walk around the park brought the weekend to a close, and the water fountain at the end of the trail was a thrilling surprise for L.
As always, the best part, though, was the return. Lumpy, slanted nights’ sleep left all of us feeling we hadn’t actually slept at all. “I woke up every single time I turned over,” K admitted as I mumbled about how badly I slept.
It left us all jealous of creatures who can curl up comfortably wherever they are, and happy at the thought of our own beds.
“Just think: it will be soft, even, and flat.”