In early September of 1981 , we joined in on a family reunion planned and organized by my mother . It was to be held at Ike Kinswa State Park in Southwest Washington State . The park is situated along the shore of Mayfield Lake .
The Lake was created by the construction of the Mayfield Dam in 1963 on the Tilton River just downstream of the confluence of the Tilton and Cowlitz Rivers . Just over 420 acres were allocated for a new state park , including some 40,000 feet of shoreline along the waterfront . The park was named to honor a prominent chief of the Cowlitz Tribe of Native Americans .
By 1981 , Ike had become a favorite summer destination . Somehow though , my mother managed to reserve half a dozen RV sites and ten tent sites close together and along the waterfront . At that time , I believe reservations could be made a year ahead of time , which means she would have made them long before anyone was aware of a family reunion being organized . Invitations were sent out around the first of June .
My crafty mother had reserved the best of the sites by the lakefront day ahead of the rest . She did this so that she and my dad were already situated and sitting in their camp chairs with their backs to the lake , enabling them to watch the rest of us arrive and set up . Sharon and I were the first to arrive with our truck and camper . Our rig was easy to set up ; just pull down the stairs in the back and hook up the power and water hose . My dad loved to rate the skills of folks backing into campsites . His rating system was from 1 to 5 , with 5 being the best rating . One of my sister ’ s husbands , Terry , got a 1 . He and my sister were the next arrivals , and they had a site directly across the road from our parents . They were rookies at RVing , and this was their first adventure with their new fold-out tent camper . Sharon and I stood by with my parents to watch . It took him about 15 minutes , backing up , getting out to look , then driving out and backing it up again , time after time , before he finally got it right . When he had
finished , he got out , pleased with himself , walked to the middle of the road facing us , and did a deep theatrical bow . We all cheered and applauded !
Terry and I were the only men present at that time besides my dad , who was a little weak due to a heart condition . But my mother spoke as if speaking to a crowd …
“ I need a couple of men to gather some wood for a big campfire this evening . I think we ’ ll need quite a bit .” She announced .
Terry , a natural-born comic , looked over his shoulder , then turned to me and said , “ Come on , let ’ s go find a couple of men .”
Mom said , “ There are two standing
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right in front of me . They should get busy !”
Terry and I looked at each other and grinned , knowing that a “ couple of men ” meant us .
In those days , you didn ’ t buy firewood . You gathered up branches and such laying around in the woods around the campground . Sometimes , following a winter storm , trees would be blown over . The park rangers would cut them up with a chainsaw into lengths of about 16 to 18 inches long . These cut sections are called rounds . They would just leave the rounds laying there , knowing that campers would find them , carry one or two to their campsites , and chop them up for their fires .
It became a challenge contest for Terry and me . Who could find and chop up the most firewood ? So , with gloves adorned , we took off into the surrounding forest in different directions , hoping to find some rounds .
We both carried several heavy rounds ( weighing 50 to 60 pounds each ) back to my parent ’ s campsite and started chopping . We both carried an ax in our gear , as did most campers in those days . Sometimes , even with a good ax , wood rounds were stubborn , and the ax would have to be brought down several times to get the big rounds to split . It seemed that most of our rounds were of the stubborn variety .
Mom had gone back to her business in their trailer , but Dad remained outside . He sat in his webbed aluminum camp chair and seemingly watched out over the water . But he had an eye on Terry and me , now sweating and dirty , continuously struggling to chop those stubborn rounds into firewood . When we were finally down to the last round , Dad spoke up .
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