All summer long, we talked about going camping as a family. But summer did what summer does—it filled itself up with projects, trips, and a hundred little things that made “family camping” slip further and further away. By mid-August, Jess and I looked at each other and realized: if we waited for everyone, we’d never go. So, we carpe’d the heck out of that diem, waved goodbye to the boys, and claimed the one lone campsite left in Waterton. (Remember, I’ve committed myself to saying yes to whatever adventures my kids invite me on.)
We set up camp like pros (honestly, we impressed ourselves), and soon Grayson joined us for a hike up to Bertha Falls. Fresh mountain air + laughter + the sound of rushing water = therapy you can’t buy.
Dinner? A straight-up feast. Corn on the cob roasted over the fire, baked potatoes tucked in the coals, and juicy beef chunks cooked on roasting sticks like the world’s fanciest marshmallows. Pioneer women, but make it gourmet.
And because no day in Waterton is complete without dessert, we strolled down to the lake and polished it all off with Beavertails. Sticky fingers, happy hearts.
The night ended with Jess and I talking long into the dark, our tent lit only by laughter and whispered stories. Eventually, we dozed off—content, grateful, and maybe a little proud that we pulled it off.
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