The worst vacation ever

My parents truly have a lot of talents.  Vacation planners doesn't make the list. When you combine not having much money and parents that don't really know how to recreate, magic happens.

One weekend--I think it was in May because Marianne was home from college--my dad was going to go to a rodeo in Jordan Valley, Oregon which was over 5 hours away.  His intent was to try to sell some of the silver mounted bits and spurs that he made.  There was discussion about who would go with him on the trip.  Marianne encouraged us all to go.  "It will be fun!" she insisted.  (I blame the fact that she'd been away from college.  She'd forgotten about our family and vacations and how fun was rarely in the equation.)  Marianne is also persuasive.  So we all went.

We had a big old Cadillac, two bench seats.  We had eight people.  I was full grown at 5 feet 7 inches and the fourth smallest out of the six children.  That is an important fact to help you realize the length of the arms and legs involved in this tale. My parents were in the front seat with Marianne between them.  Either my mom or Marianne would hold Ammon on their lap.  Ammon was seven.  Enoch, Olivia, Tabor and I sat in the back seat.  I'd like to think that we had something to do with Enoch's college basketball career.  He got a lot of practice blocking and jockeying for position in the backseat.

Because we were crowded.

We stopped at a Burger King in Twin Falls, Idaho for lunch.  They had a screaming deal going on: hamburgers for $.25 each!  We were strictly a nobody-gets-fries-and-we're-all-drinking-water sort of outfit.  My dad pulled up to the drive-thru window and after some calculations ordered 12 hamburgers.  There was a long pause on the other end and then the disembodied voice said, "Ummm...you can only have 8."

So we got eight.  And some other stuff too.

Because we were a family of eaters.

Marianne lucked out and stayed with her friend who was going to school in Caldwell.  The rest of us enjoyed the amenities Motel 6 had to offer.  Somewhere along the way, we took this picture:

Enoch topped out at 6'8" when it was all said and done so he did eventually grow into those feet.

It's another one of the pictures that really makes me happy.  Enoch and Ammon and Tabor look miserable (they were--we all were).  My dad didn't get out of the car for the picture but you can see the silhouette of his hat.  My mom looks amiable and long suffering.  Olivia, lounging on the car, looks very Olivia-like and then there's Marianne, the master of ceremonies.

Good times.

We finally got to Jordan Valley for the rodeo and it was raining.  A lot.  All day.  And there's something we learned about Jordan Valley.  There was NOTHING there.  There was the outdoor rodeo grounds and a Chevron gas station (without a convenience store) and a few houses and that was it.

We were there so my dad could try to sell some stuff so he got out of the car.  The boys went with him because they wanted to see the rodeo.  My mom and sisters and I decided that we were staying in the car.  After awhile, my mom pulled out some Reader's Digest magazines that she had in her bag and passed them around.  We sat in the car with fogged up windows, reading.  Occasionally the boys would come back to the car to get warm.  They smelled like wet dogs.  (Not that we would ever say such a thing--wait, yes we did.)  Because the quarters were so close, when they boys came inside the car, we were all mashed up against each other.  Which didn't add to the experience.

At one point, Marianne saw the humor of the situation.  She started laughing that we'd driven all that way (and endured so much) just to sit in the car and read Reader's Digest with fogged up windows.  Once our cousin Lincoln told Marianne that she could have fun in a Turkish prison camp.  I think it's sort of true.

Finally, my dad gave up on the endeavor.  He climbed back inside and we started for home.  It was a long ride home.  My parents were somber because the trip was not lucrative.  The rest of us were just crowded.

Years (and years) later, a fellow bit and spur later brought up the subject of the Jordan Valley trip with my dad.  He had been there too.  He was also struggling to make a living making and selling bits and spurs.  He said that he was about to quit and try some other way to make money.  He saw my dad though, with all his kids, go home partway through the rodeo.  He assumed my dad didn't need to stick around because he was doing so well otherwise.  He figured there must be money in being a bit and spur maker if my dad could be so cavalier.

My parents were stunned when they heard that.   To us, it was just the worst vacation ever.