No Bears, oh my!

Took my son on his first camping trip. Since he's only 3 1/2, we kept it close to Los Angeles, winding our way through the Angeles National Forest above La Canada to a gorgeous, mountainous area called Buckhorn. Bear country. Fir and pine trees all over the place, the hillside littered with the carcasses of long living, recently dead redwoods. A stunning place.

Zach was an absolute trooper, helping put up the tent as much as he could, laying out his new dinosaurs in the dirt and doing everything I asked of him. Pleasantly, we met a family of three with their 20 month old up for the whole weekend. Zach became the quick big brother to Jack, who he insisted on calling 'Jack Jack' throughout. He had his first smore, which was like Bubbles' heroin need on "The Wire". Needless to say, he was hooked. After the whole experience, Zach insisted his favorite part of the trip were the marshmallows. Then demanding an answer on his second favorite thing... marshmallows. Requesting insight into his third favorite... marshmallows.

I still think he had a good time, though.

The Buckhorn campground is filled with warnings about bears. They're indigenous to the area, and prevalent, and it's not uncommon for them to raid a camp in search of a free meal. This makes them fairly harmless, because they've been domesticated by the easy access to food. For better or worse, however, we never saw one. Zach couldn't decide if he was happy or sad about that turn of events. Honestly, neither could I.

The entire trip was great, although Zach became painfully aware of the difference between our campground and our neighbors. Zach and his daddy, and Jack and his daddy... and momma. Late at night, Zach sobbed in a way that seemed WAY too mature for his years, saying "A kid should have a daddy AND a momma to take him camping, like Jack!". It broke my heart. Because he's right, and he doesn't have that. If he ever does have it again, it'll be a weird merging of families and people, that one of the real mommas or daddys can't take part in or understand. It broke my heart, and his.

Late that night, I sat around the fire with the parents - two very nice, sweet people - who generously were passing around the pot pipe, and learned that the mom's parents separated when she was 3. Lots of similarities there. But the takeaway was that she admitted that it crippled her relationships with men until very recently in life, and she was probably pushing 42 or so. And she was a counselor and spiritual healer, so not one out of touch with her emotional side. Of course, sometimes it seems the therapists are the most screwed up, but she certainly seemed to be pretty well-balanced.

In the midst of the natural wonder, the starry night, and the wonderful time spent with my son, it was almost as if I could hear bears rustling through the undergrowth.