Oh, the humanity

We went "roughing it" over the weekend. It started out 76 degrees and sunny and ended up in the 40s with heavy rain and wind. Luckily the pregnant me's version of roughing it includes a rustic yurt. I might have tripped over tree roots on the way to the restroom, but we did enjoy hot running water.

In other good news: We didn't lose any children in the great avalanche of backpacks and sleeping bags.

In between storms we hiked. Mr. Suite had a plan that included overly ambitious miles of hiking. I valiantly kept up. Sort of. Leftover broken hip gimpiness and the general state of the third trimester were my excuses when I sat out some of the steeper inclines. (Also I had my new copy of Alabama Stitch with me. Go figure.)

I'm pretty sure one doesn't need to be gimpy nor pregnant to experience localized chest pain and generalized anxiety disorder over the sight of one's entire family on the precipice.

... of that inlet, also known as Devil's Churn.

We experienced some unbelievably warm, windless weather for tidepooling and the reading of Patrick McManus stories around the campfire. The girls are all now too familiar with the psuedoscience experiments that can be conducted by preteen children given cases of canning jars, bear grease and a heavy dose of teacher mockery. (Did I mention we homeschool?)

And then there was some more seasonable Oregon weather that alternately drenched and threatened to blow away the lighter leaves of the family tree.

Some of us with aforementioned gimpiness and/or height-related issues didn't measure up for climbing the lighthouse stairs.


Laura stood on tiptoes to no avail. Then she threw a fairly impressive screaming mimi in the lighthouse keeper's oil room while everyone else climbed the stairs. Strangers who were waiting in line were impressed with her tenacity. Also my creativity in distraction. (Okay, I made that part up. But they were impressed.)

Some of us did measure up for the stairs. And weren't afraid to gloat about it.

Some of us found a lot of seashells and agates.



One of us slept on the top bunk for the first and much-anticipated time.

Others of us were carried when we couldn't walk anymore.

I highly recommend yurt "camping" if your family for whatever reason can't take the dirt and bugs route. (Sometimes we take our little canned ham 1950s travel trailer but alas we are outgrowing it.) My husband grew up with truly rustic camping but this way the 2-year-old's toilet training was hardly derailed, the beach was steps away but so was the foot wash station. The only thing I'd change is next time we'll probably use our hitch rack thingamajig so the dog can ride in the "way" back instead of in the middle row with Madeleine and Sarah and so the bedding and backpacks don't teeter overhead that way.

I took a little more than 400 pictures and hope to impose on y'all with a few more of them as days go by.

In the meantime, I have a little unpacking to do.