I just came back from a 10 day camping trip with Polina. Some people raised their eyebrows and discouraged me from going, and to be honest, I didn’t know whether it would work. I told my husband that if it didn’t work out, I would be coming home.

We were scheduled to arrive the day after Labor Day at a campsite in Spencer Spit State Park on Lopez Island. To get there, it’s about a two hour drive to Anacortes to catch a ferry to the island. I started packing the day before. I was confident we would have a good start the day we were to leave. Oh, how things went arye.

Polina didn’t want me to get ready. She wanted me to hold her. I knew this because every time I picked her up, she stopped crying, but when I put her down to get some business done, she cried.

We managed to get some breakfast in, but we weren’t able to leave by mid-morning as I envisioned. I had a hard time taking a shower with Polina standing by the child safety gate, crying.

I tried to put her down for a nap, but she wasn’t having any of it.

I couldn’t finish washing dishes. I couldn’t finish packing my and her clothes (the camping gear was already in the car). Theoretically, I could have continued to let her cry, but I COULDN’T do it.

What the heck. Let’s have lunch then. Better to save money and eat at home. We ate lunch. Afterward, Polina continued to be a handful. I was beginning to lose it.

No, let’s me be honest. I did lose it.

I was really looking to get away. I have gone to Spencer Spit almost every year for the last eight years. Camping calms me. If I don’t get out of the city, I start to feel antsy. It had been 15 months since my last getaway. I was overdue, and I felt it. I felt desperate.

I don’t remember my words to Polina exactly, but it was something to the effect, “What is it?! We have to go to the ferry! I spend all day with you, every day, for the last year. Why can’t you cooperate?!”

Infused in that plea was a tone of desperation because I wanted to go. I needed to get away, and this little being wasn’t cooperating. I hate losing it. It makes me feel like crap.

I emailed my husband. “Please call me,” I wrote in the subject title. He called a few minutes later.

“I can’t get out of the house,” I cried, exasperated. “She won’t let me get out of the house.”

As always, he is more practical in these situations, because he’s not the one experiencing this frustration that, after a year, has penetrated my core. He offered to help me when he got home from work. I knew that would make my departure really, really late. His message to me was that whenever I got there, I got there.

I did finally get out of the house, with all my stuff, at 3:30 in the afternoon. Plenty of time to catch a ferry at 6. The ride up was uneventful. I was happy to be on the road. My mind was beginning to prepare for my vacation. Anytime I get out of the city I feel lighter and my problems are in the rear view mirror.

I got to the ferry terminal around 6 and was shocked to learn that the next ferry leaves at nine o’clock! I figured I might have to wait, but with the evening commute, I didn’t think the next ferry would be in three hours. I know, I know, I should have checked the schedule. Hey, I was just trying to pack our clothes and get out of the house. I didn’t know what I would do with a one year old at the ferry dock for three hours. I could have left and come back later, but then I wasn’t guaranteed a spot on the ferry. I decided to stick it out. I had come this far, I wasn’t going back.

I called Pete and left him a message at home with the latest development. I needed options in case it was too dark and too cold to set up a tent that night. When Pete called back, I asked if he could investigate places to stay on the island. (I don’t have a smartphone.)

He called back saying he made a reservation for a room for $99.

“$99!” I exclaimed.

I couldn’t see myself (yes, myself, this was going to be my bill) paying that much money to stay one night, even if it was going to be dark and cold by the time I got there.

“Cancel it.” I said. He did, and I hoped I made the right decision.

I watched Polina walk around the café at the ferry, along the parked cars at the dock, and in the small park nearby. She had way more energy than me. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Three hours passed and, miraculously, we both made it. The sun had set by the time we drove onto the ferry. It was beginning to get dark outside, and when we disembarked about a half hour later, it was pitch black dark. (See the picture below.) Polina, at this point, was tired. It was 10 pm, her usual bedtime, and I still had to drive to the campsite and set up a tent. This was a walk-in campsite. That is, the campsite is about 100 feet from your car. No other site was available for any considerable length of time.   At this point, I was thinking, “What was I thinking?”

 

I felt myself shift into survival mode. This was going to happen. I drove to the campsite. It took me several loops around the campsite to even find my site. It was so dark I couldn’t see the numbers. A woman in her car at one of the campsites (that wasn’t a walk-in) was looking at a map. Since I was the only car driving around, and around, I hoped she didn’t find that creepy. I did find my site and got out of the car. The sky was clear and I could see the stars clearly. I put Polina inside my ergo and got to work. I could carry more without my flashlight, so after I found my campsite with my flashlight, successive trips I returned without one. Polina clung to me tightly. That was a good thing. It was so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of me. If I had let her go, I wouldn’t have been able to see her.

Polina didn’t want me to let her go even as I was setting up the tent, so I did things with her in the ergo or with one hand if she protested being in there. She wouldn’t let me inflate the mattresses, but I did put the sleeping bags and blankets down. I set a lantern on a picnic table for light, but made trips back and forth in the dark with Polina. There was no one next to me. I’m glad I wasn’t afraid of the dark or scary monsters, although I did think about it.  In my younger days, I would have been afraid.

With the tent set up, there was one final obstacle. When I went inside the tent to lay Polina down, she would start crying, and a campsite is no place for crying. The sound pierces through the night. “Oh no, Oh no, Oh no” I thought to myself. I picked her up and stood vertically, and she stopped and began falling asleep in my arms.

I was tired myself and couldn’t stand there all night. And it was cold. After a couple more unsuccessful tries laying her down inside the tent, I prayed. And then it worked. I lay her down next to me and she was able to stop crying to latch on to my breast, and then she fell asleep. A feeling of relief swept over me. I was able to extricate my breast from her mouth without waking her up. I called Pete and told him that the tent was set up and I was okay. I lay down next to her and drifted off.

The next day I finished unpacking. I had a couple days to myself, since I arrived at the start of the week, before it would get busy with weekend campers. We went down to the spit, went to the main town center at Lopez Village, went to Fisherman’s Wharf and watched a wedding rehearsal. It was nice to be away, but I didn’t have the same relaxation that I had in previous years when I went by myself for two reasons: 1) I had a one year old to watch out for and 2) I hadn’t worked in the past year, so I didn’t have the stress of a crazy boss or pressured work environment. Nevertheless, it was good to be back to reconnect with the people I know and make new friends. I’m sad to say that it felt like I had more heartfelt conversations with people during my 10-day stay on Lopez than I had in a year living in a major metropolitan city.

Pete made a surprise visit on Saturday. “You don’t think I would miss my girl’s first camping trip, do you?” He videotaped as he walked up behind me. I was so shocked to see him I don’t think I could see anything for a minute. When the realization sunk in, I was overcome with joy, and I wanted him to stay longer. Unfortunately, because he has to use a CPAP, camping is not an option for him. We had a great time walking on Otis Perkins beach together, looking at the scenery at a preserve nearby, and then going down to Spencer Spit. I missed the strawberries this year at Crowfoot farm. The harvest ends September 1. Usually I would pick and eat pints and pints of strawberries, but not this time. I did get a chance to talk to the owners, Eric and Elf (Eleanor), which was nice.

I like the idea of going camping every year with my daughter. I never had any annual events with my mother. I spent summers by myself, either at camp, at a swimming pool, and in my teenage years, being a hermit in our condominium. Except for two summers spent at a swimming pool, it wasn’t a happy life. I don’t want that for my daughter. I want my daughter to like me and for us to have a bond, not at all what I experienced with my mother. After visiting the San Juans almost every year for a decade, I don’t know whether I will go to the same place again next year. There is something comforting about the familiar, but I would also like to see other places. My main priority is safety and convenience (particularly with a baby/toddler). Lopez Island has the perfect combination of natural beauty and contemporary convenience, so it will be hard to match.

Originally written September 16, 2013.