My family rarely takes trips together. We once went to Disneyland.
I’m seventeen now.
How long ago do you think that trip was?
Anyways, the woods weren’t my idea. I hated the dust that filled the air when we drove off-road. I hated all the warning signs that told me what to do should I encounter a bear. Ha! As if I’d have the sense to remember whether it was or “stop, drop, and cover my neck for dear life,” or “stop, drop, and roll!”
And I really hated the Port-O-Potties.
However, our family trip to YosemiteNational Parkthis year was . . . special. Yes, I encountered all these horrors (except the bear), but there the stay was worthwhile.
Dust aside, the view was captivating. As we reached Yosemiteat sunrise, it looked as if the clouds were pieces of cotton set ablaze by the sun. I tried to capture the sky with my camera, but the image blurred.
MirrorLakewas gorgeous, or, should I say, the grass was gorgeous. I’ve never seen grass such a bright shade of green in my life. Here in the suburbs, we have an unstable relationship with grass. One day, it’s nature’s lovably tame carpet. By next week, it’s an enemy that needs to be cut down.
And that’s not just my excuse to stop mowing the lawn. That grass was beautiful.
. . . Weddings are beautiful. Usually. If this trip went badly for us, it was always worse for someone else. As we were eating in one of the dusty picnic areas, there was a wedding nearby. Suddenly, a truck rumbled down the dirt road. Dust surrounded us like a swarm of angry bees. I covered my face and my ramen, but the bride and groom weren’t so lucky. I could hear them choking on nature. When the dust settled, his suit wasn’t so black and her dress wasn’t so white. How cute, I thought. Matching outfits.
We smiled at them.
After seeing a wedding take place in the dustiest place in the park, we thought we wouldn’t encounter any more strange sights. Luckily, we were wrong. As we were taking photographs near Bridalveil Falls(crowded, but a much more fitting wedding location), we noticed another family.
It was an odd family. It consisted of only children and adults, no teenagers. Most of its members were Japanese, but there were some Caucasians, too. I saw matching bandanas and realized then that they were actually a group.
There was an old Japanese man. He had a dozen cameras dangling from his hands, as if he were a street vendor selling his wares. He knelt down in front of the group. I couldn’t understand what he said because it was in Japanese, but the group laughed. Click! He set the camera on the ground and picked up another.
Each time he said something, they laughed. Each time they laughed, he snapped a photo. He set the cameras one by one on the ground gently beside him.
They weren’t the only ones laughing. Everyone around them, including my family and I, was laughing.
I raised my camera and snapped a photo of the photographer.
They were just a group on a field trip, but from the way they behaved, I believed them to be a family. I looked up at my mother, my father, my two sisters. A trip can make people into family. Like that group, my family and I shared fun and laughter at Yosemite.
We were a family.
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