Just Get Me to Cow Camp

The slogan of sorts for Cow Camp has become "Just get me to Cow Camp" because we're usually desperate to get there. Yes. COW CAMP. No, it's not a fat camp. It's a week of the Montgomery family, wilderness, pancakes, mosquitos, tents, campfires, swimming, tanning, eating, laughing... and this year, a lot of remembering. In a way, I'm looking forward to this year's family camping trip more than any other year but I'm also dreading it like I never have. What's so different about this year? Grammy won't be there. She won't be sitting in her reclining camp chair, reading romance novels with half naked men on the covers, barking out orders for the nearest grandchild to bring her another diet pepsi- don't forget the coozie! She won't be there with her sweatpants tucked into her socks, complaining about the mosquitos and her dirty hair, watching over her six children, entertained by her hordes of grandchildren and asking to hold her two great-grandchildren. I don't know how I'm going to get up every morning without Grammy there to say "Oh look who finally decided to grace us with her presence" when I make my way to the morning campfire. Every time I think about Cow Camp without Grammy, the pressure on my heart builds and the tears well up and my throat burns. How do I go to Cow Camp when it's not really Cow Camp without Grammy? HOW. Maybe it will be healing, maybe I'll get closure, maybe I'll discover how to say goodbye to one of my best friends. Maybe. But somehow, getting there seems to be the hardest part. Grammy, I think I'm going to need your help, if you could, just get me to Cow Camp.


Here's some classic photos of the grandchildren, back when we could still fish with worms...

1986: I'm the baby in the middle, being held by my sister; I would have been only 3 or 4 months old.


1987


1988


1989


1990


1990


1991


1992