Memories for my brother
(but others can read this, too)
Do you remember our yearly camping trips, every summer, always the same route, south to Coos Bay, Coquille, Myrtle Point, over to the coast at Bandon, and on to Port Orford and Gold Beach, past Brookings, Eureka, Ferndale, all the way to the Redwood Forests?
Do you remember riding in the back seat peering out the windows stretching our necks to see up, up to the tops of those unbelievably tall, high, straight Redwood trees?
Do you remember stopping, every summer, at the Trees of Mystery and never going beyond the parking lot?
Do you remember driving down the two lane highway, passing logging trucks, pulling the camping trailer, waiting, waiting impatiently until we knew we were almost there, almost to the campground, planning how we could get out of chores or setting up the tent, so we could run down to the river?
Do you remember how carefully Dad and Mom would choose just the right campsite? There had to be room for both the trailer and our tent.
Do you remember the campfires, the smores, the night Dad made fried chicken and everyone else in the whole camp were drawn in by the smell, sniffing the air, wishing they had fried chicken for dinner too?
Just the four of us, every summer, camping along the Pacific Coast, fishing in the creeks, playing in the sand, splashing in the water.
And finally, every year, every summer, ending up in San Francisco where we'd ride the cable cars to Fisherman's Wharf and drive through Golden Gate Park and the Presidio.
Do you remember?