By Laura Marsh
As my Subaru Outback bumps and jolts over the washboards and potholes and rocks in the winding dirt road to Kading Campground, my mind also bumps and jolts from one old memory to the next. We must have made this drive hundreds of times growing up, in our old red tank of a Suburban, the three of us kids squeezed into the back seat, taking advantage of every turn in the road to lean in and squash each other. Now, as I make the drive alone, I get to soak in the peacefulness of the sunshine beaming through the trees, the cornflower blue sky above, and the spicy scent of pine needles that I had missed so badly.
A few months ago, this is not where I would have pictured myself on this warm July day. A few months ago, I was shuttered up in my room in Lima, Perú, on strict military lockdown for the pandemic, only able to leave the house to buy necessities within my district. A hasty decision in May had me packed in a matter of days and boarding an emergency relief flight back to the states and to my hometown, Helena, in a state of shock from having my carefully constructed life completely uprooted.
At the campsite my dad has already set up, I find him napping in the trailer, enjoying the serenity of not having to deal with three kids chasing each other about. Over the weekend, as we visit my childhood haunts, I see the memory versions of my brothers and I reveling in this wild place. As my dad and I fish in the stream under a double rainbow and catch the tiny finger-length trout that are all we ever seem to hook here, I see my brothers and I splashing around racing our frisbees down the waterway, getting stuck in mud pits and making moose calls to confuse any other children running through the willows. As my dad and I walk down the path playing frisbee golf and identifying birds and wildflowers, I see my brothers and I whacking at each other with sticks as we play out battles from Lord of the Rings, hopping from rock to rock. The landscape has changed, and I have changed, but this place still has the power to bring me to life. A long nine years had passed since I had left Montana, with only short visits home to see my parents for the holidays. I had gotten so busy that I had almost forgotten the gaping hole torn in my heart when I first drove off for college, which I had never been able to fill no matter how many new places I explored. Now that this strange twist of fate has landed me back here, my heart feels full to the point of bursting, despite everything I have lost. I don’t know how I’ll ever have the strength to leave again, but when I do, it certainly won’t be for long.