Packing up to camp with baby

Family trips include newborns in our family. Still, we broke all records with our youngest via a business and pleasure trip to the New England states initiated shortly after our only daughter began her fifth week.

As we traveled across the country in the days before “Click it or ticket” and five-point harnesses and safety belts for her 8-, 6- and 4 -ear-old brothers, they made the back of the station wagon into a playroom while I held the infant in my lap in the front seat.

We borrowed a pop-up tent trailer for our 26-day trip. After a stressful winter and spring, I welcomed the low key atmosphere of the campgrounds, the warm glow of the campfire and the simplicity of heating up cans of food over the camp stove. Instead of a sleeping bag on the ground we had an actual bed with a mattress for a decent night’s rest.

We camped in the outskirts of Boston where my husband had eight days in specialized job training – five days one week, a week off and then three more days. Anytime not in class, he crammed in as many touristy activities as he could.

But first, on the hottest day of our summer, we parked in New York and took the ferry to the Statue of Liberty. Inside the statue even the baby looks hot in the pictures we made. The stairs wound tightly up to a compact room where we could peek over the harbor to the city.

Sunday morning found us just inside the Vermont border looking down on a calendar-perfect photo of a white, steepled church. We joined them for worship, even though the box-shaped pews each had a family name engraved on them – none of them ours.

We settled the tent trailer in a park near the training session. While hubby studied, the boys swam in the small lake and I sat under shady trees and enjoyed dressing the baby in her cute outfits. One day as I walked around with my infant, I happened upon another mother and babe. Our eyes met. She asked one question, “How old?” “Six weeks,” I said. Hers was a bit older by a couple weeks, too small to remember seeing the history of the area, but still part of the family as we explored a fraction of that history.

Of course, we had to check out the House of Seven Gables, find the burial plots for famous authors such as Louisa May Alcott, find the stocks once used in Salem, visit Plymouth Rock and the harbor of the famous tea party of Revolutionary days.

I brought an extra blanket for her the day we visited the Fundy National Park and noted for the huge difference in water depth between high and low tides. In that region we saw fishing boats literally hanging high and dry from the dock during low tide. The region vies for the title of “greatest difference in tide levels.” The St. John River flows upstream more than 100 miles during the times of low water.

For six hours we explored the ocean floor that spread out before the base of the cliffs that rose 45-60 feet above us. As the hours passed, the water advanced until it crashed against the base of the cliffs. As the water rose, lifeguards and park rangers corralled all the visitors to higher ground. Before we left, the water covered all but a couple of feet below the cliffs.

We left to drive even higher with a visit to the top of Mount Washington, the tallest spot in that corner of the country. It also has record breaking temperatures for cold and wind. I snuggled the baby up close to me as the wind whipped around us. A day or two later, the men, including the 4-year-old, conquered the climb up Hedge Hog Mountain while the baby and I relaxed in the tent trailer.

Keeping the baby warm while camping in those mountains brought back my mother’s words about living in houses with babies before central heating. I wrapped the baby warmly and made a blanket tent over her bed to keep her warm. I think the children distracted me on Gravity Hill. I do not remember the illusion of coasting uphill or the oval-shaped sunset after the long drive to take a ferry ride to Prince Edward Island.

We had to make a stop at the museum honoring Roger Williams, an ancestor on my maternal grandmother’s side of the family. As the founder of the first community with freedom of worship, he still impacts our nation. We had to make sure his descendants – even the baby – could say they had visited his modest museum.

Our trip home took us to Niagara Falls. I looked at the falls, but holding the baby securely I never ventured near the guardrail – the power and proximity of the water worried me.

We made it home in one piece, unpacked, developed the film and tucked the memories away. Recently we recalled that summer as we began talking with one of our children who may visit the area with their family this summer. So much to see and do. There is not time for all of it. However, as always there is no time like the present, even if the youngest must be carried.

(Joan Hershberger is a staff writer at the News-Times and author of “Twenty Gallons of Milk and Other Columns from the El Dorado News-Times.” Email her at jhershberger@eldoradonews.com)


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