MAKING MEMORIES
A Birthday Bash Camp Out Extravaganza
Evan turns 12 at West Hills Farm — Sasquatch didn’t show up
Evan’s birthday was coming up and Hilarey asked me six weeks ahead if the party could be at West Hills Farm. I liked the idea — it’s a beautiful property and her boys, my grands, have loved it here so I agreed, knowing that it would also be work. A lot of work.
Once the date was settled, Friday, June 7 — gateway to summer vacation — I made my plan. I’d arrive on Wednesday early enough to get started on the mowing. Getting through all of those zones along with some weed whacking would take the afternoon.
Thursday morning, I’d clear the overgrown “beaver trail” around the pond, named by the boys last year when they saw a beaver scurry across their path and slip into the water. Springtime growth of blackberries and horsetails is phenomenal. Trees had fallen in the pathway over the winter but my little chainsaw is not up to removing them.
In the afternoon, I’d bake the cake: triple chocolate, three layers with added chocolate chips — at Evan’s request — and homemade buttercream chocolate frosting.
I may not be the fanciest cake decorator, but this is the best cake ever. It’s easy. And foolproof; you make it on the stovetop. Evan wouldn’t go for the cupcake version either — he likes those three layers because “you get frosting in every bite.”
Hilarey picked up dinner and breakfast items for the party, along with s’mores components: graham crackers, chocolate bars, and marshmallows. I know, along with a birthday cake, that’s a lot of sweet stuff. Nonnegotiable according to Evan.
And Hilarey dropped everything off here at WHF after the boys’ Wednesday evening Aikido class, along with four large bins containing an arsenal of Nerf pistols, guns, and rocket launchers, the accompanying styrofoam ordnance — missiles and rounds — and a Costco-sized carton of fresh AA batteries.
I was astounded at the sheer number of Nerf guns, many in their original boxes — must have been a thousand dollars worth.
“No, I didn’t buy them,” Hilarey assured me. “They’re a donation from my friend, Linda. Her boys outgrew them.”
The afternoon of the party, Hilary dropped off the first round of boys about 3 pm — there were Evan, Asher, River and Vedder who all attend the same school. Then she left to pick up Damien, who attends another school. The last two, brothers Eli and Wyatt, don’t arrive home on their school bus until 5 pm. Parents Annie and Ben would drop them off at 6 pm for a total of seven boys.
Along with Eli and Wyatt, Annie and Ben brought a large tent that he kindly put up. We had a tent that goes over a standard sized picnic table to keep the yellow jackets and mosquitoes at bay during outdoor dining experiences. It’s also large and see-through and Evan wanted that put up. So, though it hasn’t been out of the box in years and the instructions were long gone, Hilarey figured out how to do it. Evan and I assisted.
Next, the fire pit was still in the box, unassembled. So Hilarey and I put it together. We brought a picnic table and benches down from the barn and a few plastic chairs from the shed, a tablecloth and voila, instant camp site.
After setting up camp, the boys explored:
The beaver trail and dock that leads back up through the bamboo forest to the house; the hammock “room.”
They played soccer. River and Wyatt hadn’t met each other and when did, they discovered their mutual love for the game. River is a “river dancer” in soccer cleats, looking like an Irish hoofer with his fancy steps and control of the ball.
Wyatt, a soccer savant has dropped 15 pounds since he started playing — foregoing his Mum’s fabulous cakes and pies — so he’s even more nimble on his feet. From time to time, he asks Eli for a number up to 25 and he performs that number of sit ups. Both Wyatt and River are in the throes of learning to “bend it like Beckam.”
And there was a lot of football, which is Evan’s jam. He knows players and statistics and dreams of being a wide receiver. When he saw the look on Oma’s face — fear of injury when he mentioned football — he assured me that “it’s the safest offensive position. They don’t get hurt all that much.”
Vedder has a passion for kickball and “recess” sports. And he’s not much into scrambled eggs.
Damien is the strongest ten-year-old ever. I was struggling with a garden cart and Damien took over like an ox and got the thing moving. And he’s got a voice that needs the great outdoors.
Eli took charge of finding and whittling s’mores sticks when Hilarey forgot hers at home. And he was always looking things over, seeing what needed to be done, seeing how he could contribute. A pleasure to have around.
Asher, the ginger, is just plain cute. I ask him how he got to be so cute? Did he go to the county and get a permit? Because I’m pretty sure you need a permit to be so cute.
And I doubt that he’ll put up with that for too much longer.
When the boys grew tired of throwing and kicking balls around, they got out the arsenal of Nerf weaponry, divided into teams and were off.
Armed platoons hid behind thick shrubs, camouflaged into the salal and Japanese skimmia around the house; within the ground-touching limbs of the huge Western red cedar grove adjacent to the orchard; in the shelter of grape vines supported by a trellis next to the orchard. By stealth, they sneaked around the property under cover of generous foliage.
Quiet was interrupted by gleeful outbursts when they’d nail opponents, pelting them nonstop with Nerf darts.
You’d think they’d have scared any animals away but they saw the beautiful five point buck, in velvet, down on a lower trail. And plenty of his tracks, along with some smaller tracks.
Later, I saw the same buck dining on some high limbs beyond the orchard at the edge of the pond, and I called the boys to see him. He let the boys admire him briefly before disappearing into a thicket.
We sang Happy Birthday and had birthday cake, even though neither Hilarey nor I had remembered candles. Asher, seven, said “who needs candles? We’ve got the fire pit.”
And indeed, the fire pit was roaring because I’m a bit of a firebug and I love a good, contained, inferno. Once the blaze was down to mostly embers, out came the s’more-makings with Hilarey’s directive: just three marshmallows each.
Gotta put a cap on the sugar somewhere.
As daylight waned, Hilarey directed the boys to set up their sleeping bags and Slumberjacks — inflatable camp mattresses placed between the bedroll and the tarp. They didn’t want to be fumbling with that in the dark.
She distributed the spiky, colorful silicone glow balls with a pliable attached “string” and as we swung them around in the dimming light, they produced a strobe effect. And each boy received a little red light, keychain attachments, so they could find their way the short distance from tent to house if they needed to use the bathroom in the middle of the night.
Before bed, Hilarey gathered all of the technology and put phones safely away in the house. She spent some time with the boys, telling them ghost stories and on reflection, figured they were probably a little old for the stories she knew.
Once settled in bed, we only had to go out a couple of times to ask them to use “indoor voices” even though they were outside because we didn’t want to disturb the neighbors. Or scare away sasquatch.
Those who’d opted for the second tent, joined the boys in the larger, see-through tent and at some point around 11 pm, Eli walked Asher up to the house because “everyone was being too noisy and I couldn’t sleep.” He snuggled on the sleeping porch with his Mum.
I don’t know if they saw the stars. I don’t know if they heard the frogs. I don’t know if they made wonderful memories sleeping so close to Mother Earth.
I hope so.
In the morning, they were awake at first light, which comes somewhere around 4:30 am.
But they talked and hung out in the tent until breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, muffins. Strawberries, cantaloupe, piña.
They did another round of Nerf wars after which, we all worked together to break down camp, put away chairs, table, tents, fire pit. We all swept the grounds and gardens for Nerf darts and rounds, and I’m still finding them, though days later, I still haven’t found Evan’s green jacket or Eli’s black hoodie.
One by one, parents came to retrieve the tired campers.
I spent the rest of Saturday completely satisfied but knackered out, on the sunporch, snoozing, waking, recovering. And snoozing some more.
Thanks for reading.
Here’s the recipe for that chocolate cake:
