Yes, we're home again, home again.
We have been for over a week.
And I must admit that the sole reason I haven't posted to my blog is sheer exhaustion at the thought of uploading photos, picking photos, and constructing short sentences that will convey long thoughts.
I will fail miserably.
Our trip to Oregon and back was perfect. Just perfect.
It started with a two-nights' stay at a campground right off the Snake River in Pasco, Washington.
(I have no idea what's going on with the fingers. I can't remember what they were doing at the time. Which is, perhaps, best.)
The grass at this campground was amazingly lush. We realized the source of this lushness when we heard about twenty sprinklers go off around the camper. They give you a site map with exact locations to camp so that you won't wake up sopping. The campground guides are so particular that they literally don latex gloves and sit in the middle of campsites, picking miniscule bits of paper and other garbage from the ground.
While it was beautiful, I did feel a mite . . . supervised . . . and stressed.
We then headed on to Grants Pass, Oregon, where our campground of choice quickly knocked itself out of the running when it didn't have working bathrooms. After staying the night at a motel, we headed to a former KOA. I was shocked to hear the price they were asking. It was just a few dollars shy of the very cheap motel price we had paid the night before. I begrudgingly agreed that it would be a fine place to stay (and you can imagine what kind of face THAT gave me -- if you can't imagine, just know that my thoughts sit plainly on my face when they aren't tumbling out of my mouth). Ethan pleaded with me to please just relax and enjoy myself, and I agreed to give it my best martyr shot. Besides, it's not every day you get to camp right next to the Butcher Knife Creek, which runs off the Rogue River.
It ended up being an incredible stay. To begin with, we were the only campers in our part of the campground. The owners were new campground owners and exceptionally tidy. But the good kind of tidy, like checking the bathrooms regularly and weeding around the swingsets, not the invasive kind of tidy, like sitting under our picnic table with latex gloves. They had two dogs, Sheila and Chowser, who loved to come visit Maverick. And because they had two dogs that they were very lenient with, they let us totally ignore the "Please keep your dog on a leash" signs. So Maverick enjoyed himself thoroughly, and we enjoyed watching him enjoy himself.
(This is the only picture I took at the Wonderful Campground. Maybe this is a testament to all of the fun I ended up having, and maybe it's a testament to a van so filled with various nonessentials that I couldn't find the essentials [or the camera]. They were looking for roly-polies. Miriam named hers "Princess," and Abraham named his "Power.")
After Ethan's session meeting, we headed down to the Redwood Forest, just across the California border. This was a favorite spot. We want to do this again and again and again.
(And a picture Miriam  took:)
We traveled deeper into the forest, ending up at the Smith River. We played, and Maverick drank.
(This trash was not ours, and it took everything Miriam had to stop herself from putting it in her treasure bag . . . not because she wanted it, but because it was TRASH and TRASH does not belong on a beach. Her fingers were literally shaking as she tried to keep them from touching it. So Miriam. Heaven help us!)
I will post about Crescent City and the trip to Great-Grandma's another day. I have probably exhausted your tolerance for out-of-focus kids-in-coats photos, and there is a very handsome man downstairs with a New Release movie and some mango-and-peach salsa. I'm off to find the ginger ale and orange juice.