Bass Lake is a little lake in the middle of California.
It is home to nearly all of my favorite childhood memories, and I hope that it will be home to my girls' fondest memories as well.
Hiking, camping, fishing.
He instilled that love into each of his five children.
My grandma was a good sport and came along.
She was more of a city girl, but knew how much it meant to her family.
When my twin uncles were babies she would tie their cloth diapers to a rope and row them out into the lake to wash them.
No Pampers in those days, friends.
Then she would boil them in a huge pot over the campfire.
All of my aunts, uncles and cousins were there to share stories. Out of all of them, the diaper one will always be my favorite.
Lots and lots of dogs.
Labradors to be exact.
They are a constant source of entertainment and a bit of splashing or trampling if you aren't careful.
We spent all day at the beach, and all night by the campfire. Cousins. Aunts and Uncles. Friends.
Playing. Exploring. Learning. Talking. Being together.
Simple. The best, best, best kind of vacation.
I feel like camping is in your blood, or it isn't.
You either are raised a camper, or marry a camper and go camping just to be nice.
I am thankful to be both raised a camper, as well as married to a camper.
We even camped for part of our honeymoon. On purpose.
Our hopes are to raise three little campers, and although it is so much harder in many ways, the stripped down simplicity, free of distractions, is honestly the best way to connect and make memories.
My brother and I grew up pretending to be at Bass Lake. All year long we would go camping in our back yard. Asking over and over again...
When are we leaving for Bass Lake?
In two more months we are going back.
I can't wait.
I want my kids to have pictures like this.
Memories like this.
Bonds like this.
Once campfire scented load of laundry at a time.