I am a Heap. I mean my Grandma is a Heap. Was. So I guess that means I am a descendant of a Heap. My Grandma, my Dad’s mom (but we lovingly refer to her as “Nanny”) was born into a family with 12 (or 13 I can never remember) brothers and sisters. The Heaps. At some point in her youth, her family went camping and a family tradition was born. The Heap Family reunion. Destination: The White Mountains.
Nanny got married to Papa and they had 6 kids. My Dad is the oldest. Like a traditional tradition, they kept on camping in the White Mountains every summer. At some point I was born…. but we won’t get into the logistics.
(Nanny cooking over the fire....sometime in the early 90's)
Nanny got married to Papa and they had 6 kids. My Dad is the oldest. Like a traditional tradition, they kept on camping in the White Mountains every summer. At some point I was born…. but we won’t get into the logistics.
(Nanny cooking over the fire....sometime in the early 90's)
I don’t have a phenomenal memory, but I know we went camping at the reunion every year (or at least most years) when I was a kid. I loved it. And when I mean camping, I mean camping. Tents, sleeping bags, peeing in the woods, hatchets, cooking over the fire, smores, sparklers, junk food, rope swings, dirty clothes……I may, or may not have peed on my overall straps a time or two.
Hundreds and hundreds of family members came out for this annual event. My favorite campers were my sister and two cousins, Raven and Ciara. We always had a blast. Ciara was in love/obsessed with My Little Pony and the rest of us built forts and talked about which cousins we thought were the cutest.
As I got older I swore that I would never ever miss a family reunion. I wanted my family to experience the same dirty bottom fun that I had. I say dirty bottom fun because of Greens Peak…. a nearby mountain that we would slide down on our bums. If anyone in the entire family was going to Green’s Peak they would just drive down to the meadow and honk their horn… we would all come racing down from our campsites and jump in the back of their truck. They would drive us to the top of the mountain and we would slide down or run down, and they would pick us up at the bottom. What simple fun we had.
(Sliding down Greens Peak)
Besides dirt wedgies and mountain bikes, we had the world’s greatest rope swing. Between two gigantic trees hung a great big cable and on the cable there was a rope and at the bottom of that rope was a piece of wood. The cable was there year round but the rope swing came home with us. At the beginning of the reunion, my dad would climb up the tree and tie the swing on there. It was almost like raising the flag… the whole family watched with a twinkle in their eye.
As a child, there was nothing better. Nothing better than spending a week in the woods with a rope swing, not having to shower, sitting around the camp fire sharing stories and jokes, playing card games, and eating good food. As an adult, I realize what went into the shin dig and I’m impressed at how many times my dad pulled it off. All I had to do was pack clothes. When we got home all I had to do was shower and put my clothes in the laundry room. My dad and brother did everything else.
I broke the promise I made to never miss a reunion. I broke that promise so many years ago. But with a new family comes new traditions.....
We went camping this weekend.