Ahhh, the open road...

I don't know how mom and dad managed to haul a bunch of kids across the country (or state) year after year. It must have been stressful and difficult, but we wouldn't have known it (except, perhaps, for dad's bad mood that would creep up when it was time to leave - yikes!). We went to Tijuana where I smelled people and places that smelled like urine for the first time. I remember feeling sorry for them and buying chiclets from the children (who were very persistent). We went to Las Vegas where I was wowed by an actual place called Circus Circus! It sounded like heaven and smelled like cigarettes. We went to Nauvoo - barely, because Shamu struggled. I got introduced to KOAs, which I loved, on that trip. We went to Sea World, visited Aunt Charlene, and other distant relatives, Disneland, and so many places, but this entry is more about the journey...

I remember packing up my backpack with essentials, and helping bring things to the car. At first we were in Linus, the blue station wagon. Later on, we would switch to Shamu, the giant SUV. It was then that we used a car top carrier, the front of which was always disgustingly covered with dead bugs from the drive. Dad would swing one of us up onto the car so that could unlatch the carrier, and help pack everyone's stuff inside. This was often done at very early hours of the morning so that we could make good time on the drive.

Mom and dad kept things interesting in the car. One of my favorite things was getting into the car and looking inside my "pocket". This was an ingenious invention of moms that was made of a bath towel. She sewed large pockets onto the towel and hung from the backs of the rows of seats in the car. Each child had their name on a pocket (this not only said which pocket was yours, but also helped us not fight over where to sit - you just sat in front of your pocket). The pockets were filled with treats, snacks, and fun things to do (notepads, little travel games, stickers, etc.) They were often restocked along the way, too! They provided hours of fun.

There was also the lottery-type game where mom and dad would write numbers that were assigned to each child on the wheel of the car, and whenever we stopped, who ever's name was on top got a candy bar. Can you believe that mom and dad were teaching us to gamble!? Also, when we had to stop at a gas station, dad would usually spring for everyone to pick out one treat. Heaven.

While we were driving we would often listen to a book (either read by mom, or on tape). When that wasn't happening, we were painfully (then) flooded with the old fashion sounds of John Denver and the like (Neil Diamond, etc.). It was brutal! We whined and complained and teased our parents about their poor taste in music. Things got rough when we started playing games like "slug bug". We would inevitably end up with a dead arm because Wade had a way of changing the rules in his favor, plus, he hit a lot harder than any of us.

There were also many hours spent sleeping. Mom would sleep in the passenger seat with mouth hanging open. Dad would dose while driving, and who ever sat behind him had to massage his neck or pull his hair...anything to keep his eyes open. Others in the car would cram jackets against doors, or just sleep on the shoulder of the person next to them. Back in the day (before seatbelts were mandated by law), we would actually make little beds on the floors of the car with a pillow and a blanket. It was never incredible comfortable, but it worked. There was something magical about being cramped in a car with the anticipation of a cool destination in mind.

Dirt hills, night games, and sleepovers...

We grew up in an awesome neighborhood. What kids could ask for more than a nearby tree-hut, the dirt hills in our backyard, a trampoline that all the other kids wanted to jump on (and the rules were that they always could, but not with shoes on, 5 kids at a time, and not on Sundays), and a ritual of amazing night-games? It was fabulous!

I really appreciated being able to roam the streets as I pleased. Most of my friends live within walking distance - I just needed to be home for meals. Mom and dad were also amazingly cool about letting my walk long distances (to granparents houses, home from Logana, etc.). As a mom, I have mixed feeling about letting my daughters do that... we'll see.

Sometimes we got to have sleepovers! Oh, these were coveted events. There were only certain weekends that qualified for friend sleepovers, and then you have to wait your turn with all of the siblings. Sleepovers at our house, for each child, were few and far between (although I'm sure my parents felt like we had them ALL the time). Unlucky enough for me, it seemed like whenever my sleepover turn finally rolled around, my friend (Jamie John, in this case) would decide around 11:00pm that she wanted to go home for some reason. When that happened, I knew I was doomed. There was no way I could convey to this poor forlorn and homesick friend that by leaving, she was selling me short of my long-awaited sleepover fun which was supposed to last until at least 10am the next morning, and that the opportunity wouldn't come around again for another eternity!!! She as ruining everything!!! (Sigh) Oh well.

I remember at night we would take turns asking the neighbors if we could play night games in their yard. No one liked asking them, but we sure like using their yard because it had a small hill in the front yard that was ideal for "King of Bunker Hill" and "Kick the Can". And then there was "Steal the Flag", everyone's game of choice, so long as both Wade and Peter Blair were around to be team captains. I had every square foot of the block memorized. I could be so sneaky, army-crawling across the road in front of our house to get near the enemy flag. I liked going for the flag so much bettr than being a decoy ot the front line. Ahhh, those were good times. Then the bell would ring - literally - and the Olsen kids knew it was time to some in.

I have so many memories in the dirt hills, I can't possibly list them all. I will say that I recall watching glorious sunsets from our house before the church was built. I remember sledding in the hills, walking through them to get to school (while being attacked my millions of grasshoppers!), buryung dead animals that we found there, biking, and discovering dinosaur bones (I swear, they were real, but when we told Joseph Kemp about them, he "put them to the test" by hitting them with a hammer" I was annoyed because I was pretty sure that real bones would break if you hit them with a hammer, so Joe didn't prove anything. All he did was shatter my dreams of making a famous discovery!). Sometimes we moved on to where the big guys played - the gravel pit. I was certain that there were magical powers to be tapped there. I would spend hours and hours there, exploring, imagining, playing, thinking. It was wonderful.

Camping and hiking

Between the unique camp-outs with dad, and mom's ingenious camping ideas, I really don't know where to being. I don't remember the first time I ever went camping, because we were camping as a family before my memories began. It was just something we always did, and I loved it! I loved the freedom, as a child, of roaming and exploring the seemingly vast expanses of wilderness near our campgrounds. I loved making huts in the brush. I loved listening to the nearby river, especially at night in my tent or under the stars (perhaps because during the day the river was drowned out by the sounds of John Denver from dad's battery powered tape player). I didn't mind the bug spray (it has always been better than the alternative), and I actually like the campfire smoke smell. I remember having french braids so that I woundn't have to worry about doing or washing my hair. I loved lying in the hammock, collecting treasures, and letting my imagination run wild in the mountains. What a gift it was to grow up near the canyon in a family that took advantage of that!
I remember the lengths that mom would go to to make our experiences there fun. She always brought games and crafts if we ever got bored or exploring. She thought of everything. She was an expert camper. The meals were always delicious. Her kitchen was baffling. It seemed like she really did bring everything but the kitchen sink. It was impressive. I love that she was such a camper, and I remember that it made her think about being a pioneer. She would have been an excellent pioneer.
I remember always wanting to be tough for dad. He was tough, and (in my mind) expected the rest of us to be tough, too, especially in situations like camping. This means that I tried not to complain too much, I tried to help out where I could, I tried not to be too tired on a hike, etc. Although I may not have fooled him, I at least made efforts in the general direction of toughness.
I loved going camping with just dad and sometimes with one or two sibling. I actually only have vivid memories of one such occasion in Green Canyon near a cave with a tiny opening at the top. It was on that trip that dad taught me that peeing would actually help me be warm.
I can't finish this blog without mention of our annual hikes to the reflectors. I always looked forward to that hike! It was steep and treacherous, but awesome! None of my friends could say that they had stood on top of the reflectors! I was cool for having gone there, and for knowing the way all by myself: up, naturally. I love that mom and dad let us get on top of them. How dangerous! But we were so experienced (ahem) that our parent didn't doubt our skills.
Ahhh, good times. They really solidified my love for mountains, nature, family, camping, hiking, and the environment in general.