Saying goodbye is one of the most difficult things to do...

The time had come for us to take our son William on his first camping trip, to scatter his ashes and say our goodbyes to him.  We knew that it wasn't going to be easy drudging up the memories of that tragic week in November when we learned that William was stillborn; but we had promised to take him camping at least once.

Half of William's ashes were scattered under the white rose bush that Grandma Erika had planted in front of our house.  We scattered them on New Year's Eve, at a solemn ceremony attended by a small gathering of family and friends.  We saved the rest of his ashes to scatter at Potato Lake - a place that we both loved to visit time and again, a place that was both pristine and beautiful.  It was a place that was special to us, a place that would always be there for us, where we could return to pay our respects.  This would be our own private ceremony, attended by just the three of us.

With all of our camping gear loaded into the Jeep, as well as the purple velvet bag containing William's ashes, John and Mary and I set off for the Mogollon Rim at about 7:00 a.m. on Saturday morning, June 5.  The trip was quiet and uneventful, and we made it to Payson by 8:30 a.m.

And that was when the trip got interesting, because that was when we realized that we had forgotten the keys to the pod, in which all of our camping gear was stored.  I guess it wouldn't be a camping trip without an adventure.

We stopped at the McDonald's in Payson so that Mary could burn off some pent-up energy at the playground while we figured out what to do.  With gas over $2.00 a gallon, it didn't make sense to go all the way home to get the keys to the pod, so John decided to find a locksmith instead.  He was certain that he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of finding a locksmith open at 8:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning, but he was determined to look anyway.  Leaving Mary and me at the McDonald's, John drove up and down SR 87, looking for a locksmith.

And wouldn't you know it?  He actually found one that was open.

Although the locksmith that we found was not able to make us a new key to fit in the pod, he was able to open it for us, so that we would have access to our camping equipment.  He even said that he would do it for free, but John paid him $15 anyway for his troubles.  He was just grateful that we wouldn't have to make the trip back home again.  Strapping the pod closed with bungee cords, John left the locksmith and returned to the McDonald's to pick us up.  The time was 9:30 a.m.

Upon leaving Payson, we drove non-stop up to the Mogollon Rim.  Our intention was to camp along FR 147, about two or three miles from Potato Lake, in John's favorite meadow.  It was a pretty meadow, with a small grove of pine trees in which John used to hang his hammock whenever he camped there.  On the other side of the meadow, paralleling the road, was a small creek that was usually dry during the summer months. 

This was a place where John and I had camped once before, about a year before we were married, and we had not been back since then.  Who would have thought that we would be back six years later, for such a solemn occasion?

It was nearly lunchtime when we arrived at our campsite; while John set up the tents, I unloaded the food box and ice chests so that I could start making lunch.  That was when I discovered that Mary had dumped a quarter of a bottle of orange juice into the food box!  Although none of the food got wet, the bottom of the food box and all of our plates and silverware was sticky.  I spent about a half an hour cleaning everything up so that it wouldn't attract bugs and other critters.

Then, after everything was set up and cleaned up, we had lunch; and, as soon as Mary was done with her sandwich, it was naptime.  Mary crawled into her tent and laid down to take a nap, and John and I had some quiet time.  John took out his laptop and worked on some homework, and I did some crossword puzzles and enjoyed the silence.

Mary slept for several hours, and during that time, we took a few minutes to nap as well.  Around 2:00 p.m., though, we were all soon awake again, refreshed and ready to go. 

Now, it wouldn't be a camping trip on the Mogollon Rim without a trip into Clint's Well.  During every single trip that we had ever taken to the Rim, we made at least one stop at the gas station and general store in Clint's Well, whether it was for ice, gas, or just junk food and beer.  We had purchased many things there, including pieces of backpacking equipment, aloe vera gel for sunburns, wine, and yes, even tires.  And although the store was in the middle of nowhere, we never paid exorbitant prices for anything there.  Even their gas was reasonably priced.  That was why we kept returning there.

We made the trip to Clint's Well that afternoon to buy ice and beer and to see if there was anything else that we could use (it was always fun to look).  While we were there, we decided to stop in the Ranger Station, to look at the maps and merchandise, as well as get information about forest closures and wildfires.  The ranger on duty gave Mary a bag full of Smokey the Bear goodies for her to play with, including a Frisbee and a coloring book.  She thanked the ranger as we left the building; she couldn't wait to check out her new toys!

We took the scenic route back to camp, so that we could do a little exploring - after all, it wouldn't be a camping trip without exploring the backroads of the forest.  The backroads eventually led us back to camp, so we parked the Jeep and set off to do a little bit of exploring on foot.  We followed the creek that ran next to our campsite for a third of a mile, all the way to the campsite down the road; then, we hiked back to camp, just in time for happy hour.

At 4:30 that evening, we started getting cleaned up in preparation for the ash-scattering.  We all put on some clean clothes and washed up the best that we could, so that we at least looked a little bit presentable for the task that we were about to do.  And it was just in time, too, because just as we were about to leave, we were paid a visit by a pair of forest rangers on patrol.

"Did you know that you cannot park that vehicle in this meadow?" they told us. 

John explained to him that he had camped there many times in the past and had never been told that he could not park there.  Apparently, the forest service had been trying to discourage people from camping in those meadows by knocking down the fire rings and posting "Close to Motor Vehicle" signs.  They were okay with us camping there, as long as we didn't park our Jeep on the meadow or build any more fire rings there.  (Campfires were forbidden anyway, due to the extreme fire danger.)  John assured them that we would move the Jeep in just a minute, as we were about to leave anyway to drive to Potato Lake.

"Can you do us a favor first?" he asked, handing one of the forest rangers our camera.  "Can you take a picture of us?"

"Certainly," the ranger replied, and he snapped a picture of the three of us, holding the purple velvet bag containing William's ashes.  It was, in a way, our only family picture, with all four of us.

We left for Potato Lake as soon as the rangers left us.  Potato Lake was only a couple of miles from our campsite, so it took us just a few minutes to get there.  All of us were quiet as we drove up to the gate, and we were even more silent as we hiked to the other side of the lake.

It was a peaceful evening; the sun was just starting to set, and there was no breeze to ripple the beautiful lake.  The scene could not have been more perfect for what we needed to do.

We found a sawed-off tree stump sitting at the edge of the lake, and we knew right away that that was the place.  One at a time, John and I stepped onto the tree stump and scattered William's ashes onto the lake, as we said our goodbyes to him.  Mary, too, took her turn standing on the tree stump to say goodbye to her baby brother. 

The three of us stood together at the edge of Potato Lake and had a moment of silence as we held each other; then, we started hiking back towards the gate.  Our simple funeral was over.

When we returned to camp, we parked the Jeep along FR 147, so as not to get a ticket for parking in the meadow, and we walked the last fifty feet to our campsite.  (We needed the exercise anyway.) 

It was dinnertime, so John cooked dinner while I kept Mary entertained.  Then, after we ate dinner, we all sat around the lantern light and played games until it was time to go to bed.

The next morning, bright and early, John suggested that we all go on a hike.  He really wanted to repeat the hike that he and I had done many years ago (in August 1998) when we had camped there before.  There was an old Jeep road that started next to a stock tank off of FR 147, and if you followed this road, it would take us into East Clear Creek.  If we took the correct fork, it would lead us right back to our campsite.  If we took the wrong one, it would lead us into a canyon from which the only way to get out was to scramble up the walls, or return the way you came.  John had done this once before by himself and had had to scramble up the walls of the canyon to get out.  When we did this hike in August 1998, we ended up in the same canyon and had to return the way we came.  So how would we fare this time?

Instead of walking the road, John decided to drive the Jeep to the end of the road, where we parked and started hiking.  We only hiked about a half an hour, though; Mary became cranky early on and forced an abrupt end to our hike.  John even had to carry her part of the way back, as she was just too "tired" to go on by herself.

We returned to camp right away and started packing everything up so that we could go home.  Then, with the pod strapped closed with bungee cords, we drove away.

And so ended William's one and only camping trip...and our little boy is resting in peace in a beautiful place...

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