Schoolhouse Canyon

Your mom and dad always drive the back way to avoid Friday night traffic. They start out going along Novato Boulevard and through the farms of Novato and Petaluma, up seemingly random roads, and eventually onto 116 through Sebastopol. No matter how quick the drive, you make sure to complain through much of the journey. Occasionally, you forget to complain as you become engrossed in the scenery--spying the cows, goats, and horses the car passes along the way. When you have really forgotten your forced grumpiness, you see dragons, turtles, and grumpy cat in the clouds. Your mom plays along, wanting to encourage your creativity. 

When the car finally reaches a little town called Forestville, excitement mounts. Soon you will be on River Road in Guerneville. You forget that you insisted you would rather stay home, instead remembering how much you love it there. Shortly, you will see the sign that says "Camper Crossing 50 feet," and you will know that you have finally arrived at Schoolhouse Canyon Campground. 

As the car turns right off the road and into the campground, you anxiously start looking out the window to spot the little white west highland terrier whom you consider to be the mascot of the campground. 

"Look, Mom, there's Finnegan! Do you see him?" 

Your dad parks at the little cabin where you check-in, and you rush out of the car to stretch your legs and pat the dog. You're filled with happiness and anticipation to be returning to these familiar surroundings. 

You follow your parents up the stairs, and Chris greets you all by name, welcoming you back once again. You find comfort in being known and knowing what to expect. Chris knows you all so well now that he fills out all the paperwork for you. He pulls out the map and circles the campsite at which you will be staying. Your mom pays while your dad goes outside to grab a couple of bundles of firewood from the little shed just to the left of the cabin. As usual, you skip and run alongside your mom to the campsite while your father drives the car, filled with all your camping gear and the firewood, up to meet you. You can hardly wait to see which campsite you have this time. 

Your nose is filled with the familiar scents of redwood trees and campfires. You feel renewed by the fresh air. You point at all the tree stumps you are going to climb as you walk by them, and when you get to the campsite, you run excitedly all around it.  

"What do you think? Should we put the tent over here or over there?" asks your mom.

"It's more private over there, but it's flatter over here," replies your dad. 

"Can we put it near the fire so when we go to bed, we can still be near you guys?" you ask.

Your parents think that is a good idea. Together, you all unload the car, placing items that you do not quite yet need on the picnic table. You set up the camping chairs while your mom and dad lay down the tarp.  

"Can I help with the poles?" you ask. 

"Of course. Here's the bag. We need these two first, and then this one." 

You dutifully unfold the poles, snapping them together. After your mom and dad lay everything out, they proceed to erect the tent while you return to climbing on the large tree stumps and planning who will sleep where in the tent. You decide you have to go over to the bathroom, and you both run over there together. 

The bathrooms are very clean. Chris and Carina take great care to keep them that way. Each of the three sinks has a different scent of Mrs. Meyers hand soap, and you compare whether you got basil or parsley, geranium or lemon verbena. When you are done with the bathroom, you run back to the campsite. 

"Can we go to the river before dinner?" 

"No. It's going to get dark soon. We can go in the morning after breakfast." 

With that, your father starts building the campfire. You two start to run around looking for

twigs and bark to throw into the fire. Your mom lights up the campfire stove and puts on the kettle for some tea. You are delighted to find out that since it is late, you are all roasting hot dogs for dinner. While your mother looks through the cooler to find the hot dogs, you root through the storage trunk to find the extendable roasting sticks, which you all have affectionately dubbed "extendos." Your dad prepares the buns and the condiments while you begin roasting your dogs. 

After dinner, it starts getting dark, and you joyfully put on your headlamp, which you prefer to have in the flashing mode. You do not really need it while sitting at the campfire, but you proudly wear that flashing light on your head while you sip your tea and roast marshmallows--arguably your favorite part of camping. You try to roast as many marshmallows as possible before your parents come to their senses and make you stop. You only eat one or two s'mores, but pop as many marshmallows (roasted or unroasted) into your mouth as quickly as you can. 

Your parents always let you stay up late while camping, but eventually, you get too tired to even want to stay up. They put the lantern on for you in the tent so you can read a bit before falling asleep. You can hear your mom and dad talking quietly outside the tent around the campfire as you drift off to sleep. Soon it will be morning, and you will go to the river. 

You wake up before everybody else. You tap your mom repeatedly on the shoulder to try to wake her. 

"Mom. I have to go the bathroom." 

"Okay," your mom groggily replies, as she slowly slips out of her sleeping bag and accompanies you to the toilet. You want to stay up and get the day started. Your mom wants to go back to sleep. You win. She makes tea on the camping stove, and you all wait for your father to wake up and build the fire before having breakfast. 

After breakfast, you finally get to go to the river. As you leave to cross the road to the river, you pass by the cabin once more. Outside on the porch are black inner tubes of varying sizes. You grab a couple of the small ones, stick them under your arm, and wait at River Road for the traffic to subside. Eventually, you run across and step over the guard rail on the other side and onto the trail that leads to the river.

The path to the river takes you through old campsites. The main beach is to the left, but you prefer to go to your "secret spot" to the right and down the trail a ways. The main beach has a ton of painful rocks you have to step on to get into the water, and at your "secret spot" there is only dirt--not to mention that you all are always the only ones there.  

It is beautiful there. The water is calm, and there is a tall cliff on the other side of the river that is covered in trees and grass. You take off your shoes, get into your inner tube, and step into the water. The water is cold. Slowly, you make your way further and further into the water as you become completely acclimated to the cold. You twirl in your inner tube and kick around. You laugh and squeal with delight. Your mom swims around you, while your dad watches from shore, waiting until he is feeling quite hot and ready to get into the cool water. Eventually, he comes in, too, and you all play until lunchtime. 

Your days at Schoolhouse Canyon go on like this, vacillating between swimming and playing at the river with relaxing and eating at the campsite. You feel whole and complete there--somehow more deeply connected with your family and with nature. There is no place you have to be nor nothing you have to do. You are just free to be. And when you leave, you cannot wait to come back (although you may forget that when it comes time to return again).