No matter how warm the LA breeze felt against my skin during that long October weekend, it could never make up for the fact that I had missed yet another trip to Vermont. Each fading memory of years past felt like a painful punch to the gut, as I sadly watched the tall palms sway outside my window, wishing, if for only just a moment, I could be there with everyone I loved.
It was a thirty-year tradition that brought the beauty of fall and love of family all into one place. An excitement like no other as each trailer found its spot in our ever-growing circle and each familiar face suddenly appeared with wide eyes and bright smiles.
But what made this place truly special wasn’t just the changing leaves or the crisp air, but the fact that there was not a bar of reception throughout the entire stretch of the campground. And as I had learned long ago, once we are forced to put down our devices, something magical starts to happen. Because no matter how young or old we are, each and every one of us can finally take a second to actually look into the other’s eyes, and get to know them all over again.
But for almost a decade, I simply hadn’t been there. My only glimpse coming from random photos posted several days later or brief descriptions during one of my weekly calls home. It was a conversation that would always end with, “Maybe you can try and fly out next year.” It was an idea that both frustrated and saddened me, because I knew all too well that my “glamorous” LA job would never in a million years allow me time off, especially in the middle of October. But just for that moment, I would try and soak in my mother's excitement; part of me wondering if maybe, just maybe, I could somehow find a way.
And then one day, I did. Because after all that time in LA, I finally decided to do something I never dreamed I’d have the guts to ever do. I moved home. And just like that, many of the things I had lost while living in LA, were once again mine.
So as we rattled up that dirt road that led to the campground that first October back, I could see that things hadn’t really changed much at all. Some of the people were different of course. My grandfather had passed years before and many of my cousins had started to marry and bring their spouses into our tradition. But what had always been beautiful about this place, seemed even more so now. That refreshing smell of smoke and apple pie that filled the air, the spectacular sight of orange and red mountaintops glistening in the distance, and the joyous sounds of laughter comforting me like a warm blanket.
I had spent so many years trying to live the so-called Hollywood dream, while in reality, I had been missing out on some of the best parts of life. But in that moment as I finally began to breathe it all in, I no longer felt guilty. Because being away had finally allowed me to see things differently, and to never take this place and everything it meant to me, for granted again.
