This trip marked my son’s first real RV vacation. Before departure, I worried: would he complain? Would he miss the comforts of home?
But by Day 2, he was giddy. He perched at the edge of his bunk and exclaimed when he heard frogs. He dashed outside to chase fluttering butterflies. We went exploring trails; he counted steps, saw lizards darting, and asked endless questions.
One midday, I taught him how to make personal pita pizzas using flatbreads, sauce, cheese, and toppings. He assembled, I grilled. He devoured his with wide eyes, proclaiming “best pizza ever.”
We took a family bike ride in the resort; he pedaled hard, wind in his hair. At night, we roasted marshmallows and he told ghost stories (mild ones). I thought: he won’t forget this.
On our final morning, he asked to stay longer. That made me smile — I had feared this might be too rustic, too “different,” but instead it became magic for him too.
As we packed up, he hugged me and said, “When are we coming back?” That’s when I knew this place had done its work.