It was the weekend of July 24th, 1982, the summer of my sophomore year in college. Bleary-eyed from endless eye-contact and weary from the ongoing communication struggles to lip-read, I looked forward to a well-deserved summer break. When my aunt extended an invitation, I jumped at the opportunity to join her and my younger cousins on a family camp-out at Fresno Dome. This was not my first trip to Fresno Dome. I had been there many times before with extended family, but this particular weekend would alter my life forever.
I could always count on the mountains at Fresno Dome to revitalize me again. I could hardly wait to hike up to the ridge just outside of the campground for breathtaking panoramic views. I longed to breathe in the fresh smell of the fragrant Cedars, Redwoods, Douglas Firs and Ponderosa Pines once again.
With great anticipation, I looked forward to wading out into the crystal clear, icy creek at the edge of our campsite, and washing my hair with some minty, biodegradable shampoo. It was one of my favorite things to do — so invigorating! When done, I would sit on a warm, granite rock slab and dry my long, blonde hair in the summer sun, combing it through with my fingers in the balmy, alpine breeze. I could hardly wait to dunk my head in that cold mountain stream again!
Later, I would kick back and warm myself in a lawn chair at our campsite, positioned ‘just right’ in the sun. The world around me would be so perfectly still, except when I would catch a peripheral glimpse of a scampering forest critter running for cover.
My mouth watered at the thought of tasting the smoky char on the marshmallows we would roast over crackling campfires at night. And when the dark of night would fall, I would stare dreamily at the celestial star-glow from the trillions of lights above, and watch for satellites.
Stargazing was always a relaxing and enjoyable event. I didn’t have to hear anything. We would all gather together in silence and in awe, trying to map out the seasonal constellations with our flashlights. I find myself becoming very centered when I look up at the stars. It has always made me feel part of something bigger than myself — something great and vast and divine. When I gaze at the celestial heavens above, I am often reminded of a verse I once read by Sarah Williams, quoted from The Old Astronomer to His Pupil:
it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly
to be fearful of the night.”
Filled with anticipation, I helped Auntie load her little car to the brim with supplies and goodies, and then we all crammed in. We kept ourselves busy en-route by devouring a box of red licorice and participating in the family tradition of casting individual votes for our estimated time of arrival, often changing our minds along the way. When we finally arrived, we discovered Fresno Dome campground was full. So we turned around and crept along the dusty dirt roads towards another campground called Little Sandy, looking for just the right spot.
But getting anywhere became quite a dilemma when our overloaded car bottomed out and got stuck in the middle of a small creek that washed over the road. We had to wait until someone happened to pass by and could rescue us! We were crawling out the windows because the water was up to the car door, and to open the door would have invited a flood inside! Fortunately, two guys in a jeep soon drove by and pulled us out with a tow line. What a fiasco that was! We laughed the entire time!
Not soon after, the Fresno Dome ranger came to tell us a campsite had become vacant, so we drove toward Fresno Dome Campground and found the perfect spot, right next to the creek.
After we set up our tent again, and laid out our supplies, we all took a hike up the creek to a place that has been a family favorite. Someone had christened the place “Keyhole Falls” because of the small keyhole formation in between the arching rocks above it from which a small, gentle waterfall flows. It was the place we all liked to bathe and wash the mountain dirt from our bodies.
Adorning the sides of Keyhole Falls were giant, sun-baked slabs of granite rock. My cousins and I laid upon them to warm up our shivering bodies. The rocks were so warm that we were dry in minutes! However, we had to take care not to rise too quickly from those scorching masses of granite because our cold wet skin would stick to the dry rock beneath us. We would have to slowly peel ourselves away or we would be left with an adhesive rock burn.
Back at camp, I put on some dry clothes and settled down in a lawn chair with my journal. I happened to glance up and saw a new family drive their van into the recently vacated campsite next to ours.
At the wheel, was a young man with silky-black, shoulder-length hair, which was held back with a red bandanna folded thinly across his forehead. He parked the van, and was soon leading his family around the campsite. He was pointing to different locations as if he had been here before.
I continued peeking over the top of my pages while I watched him help unload their tents. He wore a blue-sleeved baseball jersey, and a baggy pair of overalls. I noticed he had on a pair of blue sneakers with quirky red and yellow laces that reminded me of “Mork from Ork” and made me chuckle. He was not very tall, which at first made me think he might be younger than me.
I watched him help his father put up the family tent while his mother and sisters began to nest. When he was done, he put up a smaller pup tent off to the side and nearer the creek for himself. Not wanting to look like a voyeur, I busied myself helping my aunt prepare our campfire dinner.
My younger cousin, who was maybe 8 years old then, was determined to catch a fish for dinner, even though we were having spaghetti. Not much time passed before he called up to his mother from the creek. Auntie laughed and hollered something back, which made me look to see what was going on.
There, at the bottom of the hillside, stood my little cousin and the cute guy in the red bandanna from the campsite next to us. My cousin was asking if he could loan his fishing pole to his new friend so that he could fish too.
The guy called out with a smile, “Not necessary, Ma’am. I’m just sharing the creek. Thanks.” My aunt smiled and waved at them both and turned to continue preparing our meal.
I looked back and marveled with a heavy sigh, ‘Who is this young prince befriending my little cousin?’ He looked so charming squatting down next to him, cheering him on, encouraging him to catch a really big fish.
By now this guy in the red bandanna definitely had my interest. Again, I didn’t want to get caught staring, so I grabbed my humble Kodak Instamatic Camera and started taking pictures of the sunset and the forest around, occasionally looking for a good snapshot in their direction. My aunt giggled at me for spying.
To my surprise, my little cousin eventually dragged this young buck back up the hillside through our camp, like a little sprite bringing home a captive treasure. Little did we know then that he was bringing me the man I was to marry!
On our wedding day 6 1/2 years later, my husband carried that same timeworn red bandanna in his pocket to wipe his own tear-filled eyes as he glanced with heartfelt emotion upon his bride to be.
