I love this icon 🏕 Although I can't say I have ever really been camping--tent and campfire and a hole for convenience kind of camping--and probably wouldn't like it if I did, the whole image of camping still brings up many happy memories of childhood. Just seeing a tent set up at a DIY store makes me smile for some reason.

Here are some of my mother's memories of summer when she was young.

When your grandfather worked for Locket, he had a week off every summer in mid-August. A week or so before the trip, my parents would take everything out of storage, open it all up and air it out. They’d put a big mattress in the back of the truck, which had 2’ high walls, and drive up to Sequoia National Forest or even as far as Yosemite. The year Margaret was born (‘37), we went to Big Bear Lake.

The drive north was always an adventure because I-5 hadn’t been built yet. Going up the steep and winding road over the Grapevine was hard on the cars which would vapor lock and stall.

Once at the campsite, we would back the truck in, and tie up some sheets for privacy. Mom and Dad slept on the mattress. We also had a canvas-like teepee with cots that we kids—your uncle Jim and I—would sleep on. In later years, Winford, who was 13 years older than me, lived by himself, attending Fullerton Junior College, so he couldn’t come with us. He would end up working for North American Aviation until the war started.

At the campsite, they hung glass lamps on the trees for lighting. I remember the lamps came from China.

In the morning, Dad would make a fire and brew a pot of coffee. Mom would cook baked beans and fry up some bacon which always smelled so good. Eggs would then be deep fried in bacon fat. It tasted great but couldn’t have been too easy on our arteries.

After Pearl Harbor was attacked and America entered the war, gas was rationed. To get it, you had to drive all the way to Orange which was five miles away. Still, Dad was able to get a bit more gas than most people because he worked on a farm. He’d save up the ration tickets to have enough gas for our summer trip. In 1942, we didn’t have enough gas to get all the way up into the mountains and ended up staying in the King’s River area in King’s Canyon.