Crawfish Etouffee Anyone?

Family campouts are a staple of our childhood memories. One of my (Jonathan’s) particularly memorable campouts must’ve taken place in the early to mid-1970s. We were camping at a place with streams flush with crawfish which some of us kids exploited to the max. I don’t recall now the numbers, but it seems as if we caught somewhere between 50 and 100 clawed friends. Some were quite large. We brought the most prize specimens from our loot back to camp and stashed them at the base a tree nearby. Mom or Dad had boiled some water and had some left over. Not aware that us kids had established a “crawfish zoo” by that tree proceeded to dispose of the excess boiling water right where our prize crustaceans were, scalding them good. As young hunters and gatherers we were devastated. However, if our appetites had been a bit more sophisticated, we could've turned lemons into lemonade by asking Mom and Dad to serving up a delicious dish of crawfish etouffee.

Travels with Dad: Camping

We knew that Dad was in his venturesome best when he donned his hiking boots, and clip-on sunglasses, and started sporting three days’ worth of whiskers. What could be more fun than accompanying an overgrown boy scout on a two-week camping trip? I’m sure that Mom had a few misgivings, but she was a good sport as she found ways to make our roughing it a little more civilized. Dad reciprocated by interspersing our nights at a KOA with one or two at the Holiday Inn to keep us kids sanitary and Mom sane. We thought we were pretty hip with our matching boy and girl tents, sleeping bags, lanterns, flashlights, cooler, and gas stove all courtesy of Coleman. Every meal tasted gourmet when it was cooked over a fire and served on paper plates. Sharing a bed with your brother or sister wasn’t so annoying when it was under the stars (or the tent flap). Dirt was no longer the irritant that it was at home, but rather a badge of honor representing a day well spent. One camping experience that I have vivid memories of is our trip to the Smoky Mountains. We must have stayed more than one night at a particular campsite there because I can picture our setup so well. I remember us hiking nearby trails flanked by lush green plant life that smelled sweet and earthy. Brad caught a newt--a creature previously unknown to me--and adopted it as a temporary pet. I recall looking across the campfire at Dad, who was telling a story using his hands and an expressive face to add a little drama to the tale.

I remember us attending the moving “Trail of Tears” pageant portraying the tragic story of the regions native Americans, followed by a somewhat precarious drive up a dark canyon as the sun went down in the Smoky Mountains, full of hairpin turns on a two-lane highway. Although it was dark around us, the sun-setting sky above us was the most intense magenta color I have ever seen, as if painted in watercolors. I remember a sense of security that although the road was treacherous, Dad was at the wheel so all was well.

Travels with Dad:The Cooperstown summer

I have some odd vacation memories—funny little snippets that come back to me at the strangest times. I remember staying outside of Cooperstown, New York in an old house that was part of a campground (where we had the scalding accident, and Dad’s healing blessing). It seems like Dad had taken the boys to the Baseball Hall of Fame, and we girls had taken in some other diversion. Several of us went to the camp store for goodies and were surprised to learn from the clerk that “Elvis” had died. At the time I wasn’t sure who Elvis was and wasn’t sure why a lady camper was crying. It may have been on that same trip that we stayed in a small town with a little theater that was playing “Benji” I believe. Thinking that would be pretty tame family entertainment, Dad and Mom insisted a dubious Doug and Brad join the family inside. We found that the “theater” was a wood-floored room with a screen on one wall—like an old town hall. We sat on metal folding chairs, bought popcorn from a popping machine on cart in the foyer, and our family watched the movie as the majority of the audience that night. Where else would that happen? It was absolute Americana at its best.