We spent this last week camping in Eastern Washington at Sun Lakes/Dry Falls State Park. Karina told me she wanted to go camping, but it had to be some place hot. So Dry Falls it was. Temps between 60-90, lots of sun, a lake in which to swim and fish, mini-golf, spectacular geology, a snack stand with delicious ice cream shakes, lots of wildlife, and it was the perfect week. But a few questions remain. . .
- why is there always somebody in the campground who labors under the false impression that everybody else wants to listen to their choice in music?
- as a subset to the previous, why is their choice in music always either country or metal? Why is there never a camper blasting jazz or classical? Maybe that ought to be my new thing.
- why is boaters+camping always a recipe for obnoxious, drunken, loutish behavior?
- why do quail run more than fly? Don't they know how silly they look?
- why does the Air Force decide to run late-night low-level flight training directly over campgrounds full of tired campers?
- why is the Washington State Parks system in such financial trouble? If anything should be funded, it's the parks that give us all such joy and recreation.
- why is it that a week of rest and relaxation can be destroyed by 15 minutes of rush hour traffic on I-5 through Federal Way?
- why don't park rangers get more recognition? Ranger Dennis was very kind and helpful to us after our children drained the battery on the Kia the last night there. (he was also very professional in dealing with the attempted rape by an axe-wielding, murderous-threat-spewing drunkard down the way our first night there (no - we weren't involved. Just hear all the screaming and shouting)).
- why do kids grow up so fast? And why do the good times pass so quickly? Karina said one evening 'let's sit and talk about the good times.' And all I could say in response was 'these are the good times.' Between standing on the dock teaching the girls to cast their lines, jumping from the diving block into the deep, cool water, making s'mores over the evening campfire, and watching Clara spend an hour tracing the path of a beetle through the campsite, these were the good times.