We drove over Deception Pass bridge on a Saturday mid-day; it was Fourth of July weekend.  The drive is not too far from our home outside of Seattle, but the kids were still antsy to get out.  We had decided to go on this trip just the day before and so did not have reservations at any campsites.  No problem, we told ourselves. We’ll find something.

We had a great day together, visiting two military forts and enjoying a veterans parade down the quaint main street in Coupeville.  The kids got pocketfuls of candy and their eyes shone wide like it was Christmas Day each time a float would pass by with costumed members of a club or school group threatening to hurl Butterfingers and Tootsie Pops at us.

Driving to the first campsite on our list, we were full of enthusiasm for our spontaneity.  Two young kids, a dog, and we can still just jump in the car for an impromptu camping trip.  Go us!  We were patting ourselves on the back.

The first campsite had no availability, then the second, and then the third.  The mood in the car changed quickly and the kids were quiet as we yelled at each other.  ‘Try this place!’ ‘No, I’m not going to sleep in this middle-of-nowhere campsite that I’ve never heard of!’  ‘No not that one – I know its the only spot left but it’s between two huge RVs!’

We were driving along the main road that would take us back over Deception Pass and home to our warm beds, in about 2 1/2 hours.  Should we stay or should we go? We were both so tired and frustrated and unhappy.  This trip was no longer fun.  One more site, right before the exit. Well known throughout the state for being one of the top campsites: beautiful rocky beach to explore, great views of the Pass, private campsites.  No way would they have availability this weekend.  ‘Let’s just stop in to check- our last try’, I said. ‘No, I just want to go home; this is not fun anymore and I want to sleep in my own bed’, he replied.  ‘No harm in trying, there probably won’t be availability anyway.’

The conversation continued that way, with my husband tapped out and ready to retreat.  But this one time, for some reason, I would not back down.  I was tired too and could have slept in my own bed, but it was not an option.  The right thing to do was to stay.

I pushed and I pushed; finally he gave in.  Reluctantly, unhappily, grumpily.  I still wasn’t sure this was the right thing to do, but we did it.  Lo and behold: there was a spot.  Someone had made a reservation and not shown up – after 4:30 they release the unclaimed places.  A campsite close to the bathroom but not too close, a short walk to the beach.  Still grumpy but slightly heartened, we drove to the site and quickly set up our tent and started a fire.

The rest of the night and the next day went perfectly: everyone slept well (enough), the new day was bright and sunny, and there were smiles all around.   And while my husband, two kids, and dog played at the beach, I patted myself on the back for pushing.  I stepped out of my comfort zone and took a risk.  I wasn’t sure how the trip would turn out, good or bad, but I knew we had to do it.

Now, months later, a few small orange and white rocks from that beach sit in my dresser, reminding me of the possibilities of perseverance.