I know one family who had planned for years to go to Disneyland. They had saved the money and scheduled the time to go. But three weeks before the departure date, a feeling of gloom seemed to settle in their home.
Finally, at dinner one evening, the seventeen-year-old son blurted out, “Why do we have to go to Disneyland?”
This question took the father by surprise. “What do you mean by that?” he replied. Then his eyes narrowed. “Have you and your friends planned something? It seems that nothing we plan in the family is as important to you as being with your friends.”
“It isn’t that,” the son replied, looking down at his plate.
After a moment his sister said softly, “I know what Jed means, and I don’t want to go to Disneyland, either.”
The father sat in stunned silence. Then his wife put her hand on his arm. “Your brother phoned today and told us his children are really sad that we’re going to miss Kenley Creek this year to go to Disneyland. I think that is what’s bothering the children.”
Then everyone started talking. “We want to see our cousins!” they all cried. “That’s more important than going to Disneyland!”
The father replied, “Hey, I want to see the family, too. I’d really like to spend some time with my brothers and sisters, but I thought you all wanted to go to Disneyland. Since we go to Kenley Creek every year, I decided this time we’d do what you wanted to do.”
The seventeen-year-old replied, “So can we change our plans, Dad?”
They did. And everyone was happy.
This father later told me the story of Kenley Creek.
When my father and mother were young, we didn’t have much money. We couldn’t go on vacation to any place that cost a lot. So every year Mom and Dad would pack the wooden grub box with all kinds of food. We’d tie the old canvas tent to the top of the 1947 Ford. All the children would pile in like sardines in a can, and off we would go to the mountains and to Kenley Creek. We did that every year.
After my older brother got married—his wife was sort of a fancy rich girl who had been all over the country on vacations—we didn’t think they would go with us to Kenley Creek. But they did, and she had the time of her life.
One by one we all got married, and every summer at a certain time we would all drive up to Kenley Creek.
The year after Dad died, we wondered if we should go. Mom said that Dad would want us to go and he’d be there with us, so we all went.
The years passed, and each of us had children. Still we all gathered each year at Kenley Creek. Each night under the moonlight of the Kenley Creek sky, my brother would play polkas on his accordion and all the kids would dance with their cousins.
After Mom died, it seemed as if she and Dad came back and sat by the campfire with all of us every year at Kenley Creek, in the quiet of the mountain evenings. With the eyes of our hearts we could see them smile as they watched the grandkids dance and eat the watermelon that had been cooled in the cold waters of the stream.
Our time at Kenley Creek always renewed us as a family. We loved one another more and more as the years went by.
Any family vacation can be a great renewing experience, but many families—including our own—have found an added dimension of renewal in going back to the same place year after year.
In our family the place is a cabin at Hebgen Lake in Montana, about twenty miles outside West Yellowstone. Spending part of the summer there is a tradition started by my grandfather some forty-five years ago. He had a heart attack, and in order to recuperate, he went to Snake River and then to Hebgen Lake. That area was the best medicine for him. He started with a cabin on the river, and then he put a trailer and later a cabin by the lake. Every summer after that he went there, and he always invited his family to go with him. There are several cabins up there now, and at least five hundred descendants go there regularly.
The word “Hebgen” has become something of an intergenerational family mission statement. It means family love, unity, service, and joy to each of us in the family. At Hebgen the children and grandchildren learned to run on the scalding sand, catch frogs under the dock, build sand castles on the shores of the lake, swim in the ice-cold glacier waters, catch rainbow trout, spot moose drinking at the shore of the meadow, play volleyball on the beach, and follow bear tracks. It’s been the scene for many late-night bonfires, singing around the fire, summer romances, the Playmill Theater, shopping in West Yellowstone, and enjoying the beautiful green forests and starry nights. Up until ten years ago, there was no telephone or television there. I’m even wondering now whether we ought to go back to those “good old days.”
Stephen (son):
When I was younger, we used to spend three weeks every summer at Hebgen. It was so enjoyable, I used to wish I could be there all summer. I especially remember the opportunities it gave me to spend time with one or both of my parents or one of my brothers or sisters. We’d do anything from fishing to riding motorcycles, from water-skiing to canoeing. It was just natural to pair up and do things together. And everybody loved it. You’d miss anything but Hebgen.
Sean (son):
I remember going to Hebgen one year when I was in college. The football season was starting in just a couple of weeks. There was a lot of pressure coming. So one morning I went up to a place our family named Prayer Rock. It’s a big rock on the hill that overlooks the entire lake. The sun was just coming up, and there was a cool breeze. The lake was beautiful. I spent several hours up there just gathering myself, bracing myself for the season coming up. I felt that this was kind of my last moment of peace before the onslaught of war. Many times during the season—when it was wild and hectic and there was so much pressure—I would visualize that scene of being on top of the mountain, being calm and peaceful. It steadied me. It was, in a sense, kind of like returning home.
Joshua (son):
Since I’m the youngest at home, Mom always uses me to help carry out her family schemes, projects, and traditions.
Among other things I get drafted to help out with the traditional Pirate Treasure Hunt that takes place at our family vacation every summer in Hebgen Lake. We sneak into West Yellowstone and “raid” the dollar stores, buying all kinds of small dollar items to fill our pirate’s chest. We get balls, Slinkies, magic ink, bear bells, Indian canoes, plastic handcuffs, rabbit foot chains, rubber knives, bow-and-arrow sets, coin purses, Yo-yo’s, sling-shots, Indian bead jewelry—something for everyone. Then the chest is loaded, wrapped in huge black garbage bags, and piled into the boat—along with shovels, a pirate flag, and handwritten clues burned at the edges to look old and authentic (another one of my jobs).
After beaching the boat on what we call Goat Island, we search for a place on the beach to bury the treasure. We cover the hiding place with clean sand and throw brush on it so that it looks untouched. Finally, we run all over the island leaving clues in trees and shrubs and under rocks. Then we scatter coins—pennies, nickels, dimes, and even silver dollars—for the little kids to find.
Half dead, we return to the mobs of kids at the beach, waving an old battered pirate flag with its black skull and bones logo and hysterically screaming (that’s Mom’s job) that we scared off some pirates who left their buried treasure behind.
Everyone—kids, grownups, and dogs—piles into boats, canoes, dinghies, inner tubes, and Ski-Doos and invades the island. We scramble and run from clue to clue until the treasure is discovered, the loot is distributed, and the tradition is complete.
These kinds of traditional vacations seem to give an added sense of stability and connection. And it’s great if you can return to one place year after year.
But, again, it isn’t so much where you go as that you’re together and doing things that create strong family ties. The tradition of family vacations builds renewing memories that, as someone put it, “bloom forever in the garden of the heart.”
Birthdays
One year when our son Stephen had started a new job, his wife, Jeri, gave him a very unusual birthday gift. She said:
Because of moving, buying a house, paying off school debts, starting a new and challenging job, and other pressures of life, my husband was under tremendous stress. I knew the best way to reduce this stress was for him to be around his brother David. No one made him relax more. They were crazy together! They always had so much fun.