An image of an army tent protecting our family of five lights up my mind, staked at Hither Hills State Park, NY, for weekly summer vacations. Following, an image of my three siblings, romping in the ocean waves…sweeping the tent my daily job. A photo of my dad at the park water spigot; a rare, cherished photo embedded on my bedroom wall.

Next is a month of nights sleeping in our tent ($10-20 per night) during the summer of 1986, me driving a rusty Dodge van, adding 13,000 miles from New York to Washington state, along California’s coastline onto Kentucky’s Mammoth Cave National Park; only two break downs greatfully! My 15-year-old daughter Erin and twelve-year-old daughter Megan, most cherished cargo in tow. Sharing magnificent beauty as we hiked in at least 20 national parks.  In 1990, Erin and I rode donkeys into Bryce Canyon, only inches from the ledge.

In 1992, Erin backpacks us through grizzly land, where she volunteers for the Student Conservation Association in Alaska’s Denali National Park for a summer. She protects me with songs and whistles as we hike, (as does our shared tent), as well as my soon to be granddaughter, Hannah Denali within her womb. I call her Denali while everyone else calls her Hannah. The Tall One.  A “Higher Love.”

Then with my fourth husband, Gregory, a 1996 cross-country trip, tenting in several National Parks, screaming like a banshee in Utah’s Canyonlands, unable to protect my emotional pain; accused of having affairs; my trustworthiness not valued! Yet, another morning, we are laughing like hyenas while being tossed by the wind inside our tent in Badlands National Park.

When my first granddaughter Denali graduated from high school in 2009, I gifted our trip to Glacier National Park in America and Banff National Park in Canada, where we tented, gawked, carrying a heart-back-pack of beauty. A cherished closeness continuing from being at her birth; our special twosome at age 10, writing a song together while tenting for the first time in the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania.

I have owned two homes before choosing to live in a renovated chicken coop apartment for 14 years, and for the past 8 in a cozy 1840s built home divided by four. I have created four flower gardens, to the landlord’s delight being added to mine. For a week, at age 68 I trekked across Annapurna mountains in Nepal, where sherpas carried 80 pounds of camping preparations, including individual sleeping tents for our guided group of 16. At 72, I find myself tenting in Acadia National Park in Maine, making love with my much younger French boyfriend, Antoine, but at 77 I find myself remembering again where my love affair with the National Parks began.

I am married for the first time (now with number 5) to Chuck, for a year before planning a summer cross-country trip for six weeks through many National Parks, during my first trimester of carrying our first daughter Erin. Yes, I felt nauseous in the mornings, but it didn’t stop us from hiking, and I remember clearly climbing up Vernal Falls ladder in Yosemite with two delights inside!

Another wildlife adventure is not delightful! Now, I must cut chicken wire tents to stave off the deer and rabbits, who enjoy munching on Gladiolas and “Autumn Joy.” This year, I’ve learned to make sure there is an abundance of Petunias, and Dianthus, commonly known as Sweet William, which they’ve shown no taste for. Perennials that bear my name Diane, one particular kind is called Diana mix.

Cherished.

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