I’ve been a traditions girl as long as I can remember. I’d purposefully go out of my way because “it’s tradition.” One of our biggest traditions runs deep, and four generations gathered this past week around the campfire at a place overflowing with memories. The Covered Bridge Festival really doesn’t have anything to do with covered bridges for us. When we were younger, it meant sleeping on the wood’s edge in Heidi’s Hide-A-Way, riding our bikes through the dark night, sleeping with crazy ‘ole Grandma, and spending a day at Turkey Run and Gobbler’s Knob. As we grew older, it meant inching (literally) our way out of mom and dad’s trailer into a tent with me and my best girl friend…talking about boys, waking up to the smell of dad cooking breakfast, morning stretches, and carving our name into “The Rock.” When I brought my (now) husband, he had to be initiated into “Spooky Team” where my nephews play pranks on my mom, worked his “manly” duties of setting up camp, and had the best first year ever (with freezing showers, falling out of his bundled cot, and dealing [ever so lovingly] with his (later) wife and her spending habits).
In hindsight, I see that what I saw as traditions really aren’t that traditional at all. While we grew, we changed. Life happened.
I’ve found that the tradition is in the gathering itself. And purposefully making the memories we’ve come to cherish. Not necessarily the actions we took this year or the other.
But, boy, did we take action or what…(only showing 10 pictures of the 370ish that were captured.)
The lady asked me and my sister, “Are these for your dorm room?” Flattered sister. 🙂
Adam about to make a trip to the car with some of our finds (the scarecrow is not one of them…however, the lovely window on the left IS!)
Until next year…