Rock Creek

"Have you been camping before?" was one of the favorite questions I was asked this weekend by Tanya's relatives as I raved about the stars at Rock Creek and sucked on my camelbak-type doohickey. Rock Creek is a lovely campsite past Duchesne (pronounced Doo-shayn, not Doo-ches-nee as my Grandma Glauser thought at one time as a native Nebraskan). The drive there reminded me of driving in Northern Idaho. Who forgot to tell me that there are greener parts of Utah? Tanya invited me to go along with the Allen side of the family. We drove separately, passed her folks, and somehow still ended up arriving after them. It was funny to see what a big deal everyone made about us being late, even though we found out we were only five minutes later than Tanya's parents.



From teaching kids about vanilla-scented ponderosa pines with cows staring at us to having one dog for every four people on the campsite and riding kid bikes with those thingies on the back for people to stand on (see Napoleon Dynamite), it was a blast. I even enjoyed putting foam flowers on my backpack, talking about women's rights with Tanya's aunt and grandma, being the official blindfolder for the pinata, looking at and receiving some of Tanya's aunt's jewelry, and cooling off in the river. Now I can say I've been camping before.