A week worth
remembering.

Vacation began at one of my favorite places—hours in the woods, twice, with just fifteen quiet minutes captured on video. The rest belongs to the trees.

Later, I found cell service at an overlook and booked a campsite for Wednesday. I didn’t know yet that the best part of the week had already started taking shape.

“Fifteen minutes recorded. Hours remembered.”

George’s cat caught a little snake, so we carried it out and let it go in the pumpkin patch. George spent part of the afternoon smashing cans with a rock, and we sat on the porch swing talking about the woods.

When he said he wanted to camp, I told him Wednesday was already booked. He lit up. A hunt for string and camping supplies took us to Rural King, where a sturdy 19-inch Truper Trunk Buddy shovel was waiting for him. It became the gift of the week.

He wanted a walk that night, but it was late. I promised I’d be back tomorrow.

“You mean we’re really going camping?”

By the time I came back, George had already dug a two-foot hole with his new shovel. Then we kept our promise: I walked, he rode his Big Wheel, and—because we forgot the gate—Annie followed us. She never does that. George was thrilled; Mom eventually arrived with a leash.

Mason and I spent the evening testing my old game consoles. The SNES refused to cooperate and the NES was missing its power cord, but the PlayStation came alive. He made it to Final Fantasy VII’s first reactor save point, then found Spyro and kept playing after I left.

“One working PlayStation was all we needed.”

I picked the boys up for the week and we made one more supply run. Steaks were essential. George had been watching steak videos and knew exactly what we were missing: OSMO salt.

So we got the salt, the seasoning, the steaks, and one night’s worth of very high expectations.

“We need OSMO salt.”

After eggs and a hunt for s’mores ingredients, a tame banded pigeon greeted us at Family Dollar. We reached Tar Hollow around 2:30—thirty minutes early—and unloaded while Mason immediately set up the chess board.

We grilled hot dogs, seasoned the steaks, and headed to the greeting center at 5:20. It looked closed ten minutes early, but the host was only on a bathroom break. Snacks secured, we went to the playground, where both boys made friends. Then George wandered down the creek with Mason behind him and found a rock with a perfect hole through it. It now hangs at his house.

Back at an almost-empty campground, the steaks turned out delicious—George’s was perfect. Our firepit was broken, so s’mores went on the grill. Metal detecting produced a BEEP almost everywhere we pointed. When the light faded, we stopped digging, crawled into the tent, and stared at the stars. The boys had warm sleeping bags. I had forgotten both my blanket and pillow.

“BEEP. Everywhere.”

At 6:30, the air was cold and I packed camp. Back home, I tried to catch a quick nap before we headed out again.

We stopped at Subway—the boys’ favorite—then headed for Mamaw and Papaw’s in Kentucky. A big snake, about five feet long, was stretched across the road, so we shooed it to safety.

Papaw was leveling a gravestone base with fresh concrete, and of course George helped with the new shovel. That evening, the three of us rode the side-by-side and found a whole group of deer. My phone stayed behind, which made the moment ours alone.

“The shovel had work to do.”

Papaw took us to Huddle House, where George ordered one pancake and one waffle and discovered the waffle was the clear winner. The rest of us went for hashbrown casserole. Then came Carter Caves.

Laurel Cave was a blast. The boys squeezed through the rock, explored every turn, and came out ready to take the long route back to the car—past overlooks, creek crossings, and one more little cave.

On the drive back we stopped at the Oldtown Covered Bridge. It was fenced off, but George found a way inside. We will not be discussing what he found. Back at the house, he picked tomatoes and ‘Tommy Toes’ with Mamaw, ate some of Papaw’s KitKat ice cream, and talked everyone into building one last fire for s’mores.

“Overall: 10/10 week.”

The two-foot hole George dug with his new shovel filled with rainwater. Naturally, he climbed right in.

What started as a digging project had become a muddy little backyard pool—and another reason the shovel story kept getting better.

“A hole this good deserved a swim.”

On the last day before work, George and I took his Big Wheel to the little park. The rain had left behind an enormous puddle, which meant there was only one reasonable thing to do: ride straight through it.

The real splashes were already perfect. Then I made a couple of AI edits and turned the water beneath him into whole galaxies—a fitting finish to a week where ordinary moments kept becoming something bigger.

“Some puddles hold whole galaxies.”