Touchstones
We all have touchstones in our lives that will instantly transport us to another place and time, flooding our minds with memories. Sights, sounds, and experiences of former days are brought to the surface of our thoughts and we get to savor them once more. Sometimes, a touchstone will be a photograph taken at a special event that evokes all the emotion of the event; or it might be a melody that reminds us of a time in our youth when our whole life was still before us and we naively thought we would conquer the world; and it might be a combination of things, like waking up to the smell of freshly mown lawn on a Saturday morning, or a certain birdsong in the mulberry tree, or the smell of bacon frying and biscuits baking that can make us feel 7 years old again.
I’m finding that I have a few touchstones in my life but my favorite, by far, is our family’s favorite campground in the high Sierras at the edge of the Desolation Wilderness area. Although we no longer live near this area and we have numerous, equally beautiful camping areas nearer our current home, we still choose to drive several hours every year for a two-week stay at Wright’s Lake. It is that important to us—or should I say, to me?
When my husband, Steve, was nine years old, his father was killed in a hunting accident—just at the time when a boy begins to try to follow in his father’s steps. His mother returned to their hometown to be near her parents and her in-laws for her childrens sake, and Steve’s grandfathers and uncles stepped up to be the men in his life. He was blessed by these men who, while they couldn’t replace his father, filled in many of the gaps that would have remained empty over the years of his growing up. His paternal grandparents used to take him camping at Wright’s Lake and his grandfather took him and his brother hiking all over these mountains—the same mountains that his father hiked and hunted on when he was a boy. Of course, that was long before it had been declared a wilderness area.
Fairly early in our marriage, while the kids were still very small, we started joining Steve’s sister and brother-in-law on their camping trips to various places. Camping is difficult with small children, but with the extra help with watching the kids, baiting their fishing hooks, tending the campfire, and doing the cooking, it was a lot of fun. I’m not even sure how it all happened, but somewhere along the line, we wound up back at Wright’s Lake, along with Steve’s brother and sister-in-law, an aunt and uncle, and sometimes even some cousins from his father’s side of the family. We had such a great time that we decided to plan to do it again the next year—and so we have for a couple of decades, now.
Sometimes we’ve had a large group and sometimes only a few. Sometimes the kids will bring their friends along, new girl—and boy—friends have been brought to meet the family, and new in-laws are introduced and brought into the larger family fold. Stories are told, pictures are shared, connections are made and renewed across a picnic table or around a campfire. Children are added and introduced to the ritual of properly roasting a marshmallow—or our new discovery: toasted donut holes! Naturally, when we became the legal guardians of our four youngest children, the first thing we did was to take them camping at Wright’s Lake! It was THE ideal place for them to meet their new family and, hopefully, to begin to make the connections that would give them stability and facilitate the healing of their wounded hearts. After all, the best thing we had to offer them on this earth was our wonderful family!
Over the years, the cousins have mostly stopped coming and the aunt and uncle may come up for a day-visit, but don’t camp anymore; we’ve lost Steve’s sister to lung cancer and her absence brings a poignancy to our vacations that is painfully sweet. My older children are married, working, and usually can’t get away long enough to make the 8-hour drive to camp at Wright’s Lake with us—so we have started bringing our grandchildren along with us. We brought the first two girls for a couple of nights when they were just 2 and 3 years old, but now that we have 13 grandchildren, it’s a bit more complicated! Nevertheless, we have accomplished exactly what I had hoped for; namely, the “Wright’s Lake Connection.”
The girls begin talking about going to Wright’s Lake right after Christmas, and they’ve all got their own memories now. They are connected to the great-grandfather they never knew by these mountains, the pictures of him near the lake and on the same mountain trails we hike on, as well as by the stories they hear back at camp from Steve and the other “family elders.” We’ve given them a touchstone of their own and this year, we’re bringing the oldest of our 6 grandsons, and Steve’s brother and sister-in-law are bringing their oldest granddaughter to begin building their “Wright’s Lake Connections.”
Every year, I find some time to retreat to a special place I’ve adopted there. It’s a large rock at the base of the granite mountain, overlooking a high meadow. There isn’t much foot traffic there, so my reverie is seldom interrupted. I take my journal, a water bottle and some snacks, and I write—sometimes for hours. This is the time that God helps me to take inventory of the year just past and to see where I am now in relation to where I was the year prior. This is where I seem to gain the perspective that I am needing—here at the place where so many generations of our family have passed, leaving invisible footprints for us to follow in; marking a trail through time that tells us we are on the right path, and confirming to me that, whatever my problems are, they will look different a year from now. This is where I can always come and be reminded that, although life is an ever-changing process—full of twists, turns, joys, sorrows, sweetness and bitterness, additions and losses—my Heavenly Father never changes.
Just as these granite mountains have not changed in six generations and I would know and recognize their profile in any photograph, so is my Heavenly Father constant—and I can recognize Him in my life and the lives of my family in every circumstance. He has kept us and guided us over all these generations, leaving a clearly-marked path that some have chosen to follow in obedience to His call, and others have declined; still, the way is open to any who will take it and these mountains testify to me that all of life is in His hands—and that will never change. My prayer is that I will follow Him so closely that my footsteps will leave a trail that may guide my children and grandchildren to the Savior, and thus, as many generations of our family as God grants us before He comes again to take us home!
