When we were just kids, my cousin Carrie went with my family on at least a couple of our summer camping trips. I think there had to have been more than two trips she went with us on, but I can only really recall one to Fisherman Creek Lake and another to Waterdog Lake.
And it’s probably those trips that Carrie remembers most clearly, too. When I asked her last week if she’d like to get her family together with mine for a camping trip sometime soon, she got a strange look on her face, then she changed the subject.
And that’s when memories of those two trips came flooding back – and I do mean flooding.
One year, Carrie came with my dad, my sister and me when we went to Fisherman Creek Lake. We didn’t pack in that year. We camped at the trailhead instead. That was probably a good idea, because it rained the entire time we were there. It never stopped. It looked like it might let up on the third day, so we started hiking up the trail to the lake. About the time we finished the four-mile slog, it started coming down harder than ever, and we had to walk all the way back in the downpour.
Another year, Carrie came with us to Waterdog Lake. We now refer to that as the Waterlogged Waterdog trip. It started raining as we packed the gear on the horses, and five days later, as we were packing out, it finally stopped.
I’ve decided Carrie is our family’s very own rain magnet. Seems like every time she goes camping with us, it rains like mad.
And that’s probably why she didn’t answer me when I asked if she wanted to go camping. Maybe she doesn’t realize she’s the human divining rod. Maybe she thinks it’s my fault. Either way, it was good to see her again, even if it did start raining as she was driving away.