My kids and I decided to go camping one holiday weekend. We borrowed a tent and left Dallas on Thursday when I got off work. We went to a state park and got out the canvas. It was the kids' grandfather's, and hadn't been used in years. It was a massive roll of fabric studded with nylon loops for the posts. Inside was an enormous bundle of poles. The only thing we knew was where the bottom was. It’s exterior was overlain with plastic for waterproofing.

We laid it out, staked the corners, then tried for an hour to assemble the frame. The puzzle threatened to take all weekend to solve. The spot was overhung by an old tree.

We found a new 100 foot long roll of clothesline in the car, went to the middle, flung the line over a limb, threaded it through the nearest eye, hoisted it, tied it, and cut off the excess. Going to the next ring, we did the same.

In a half hour, it was up.

Afterwards, it could be seen a drop-off was a yard from the entrance. If someone strolled out, they'd not take a full step before falling into a ravine.

We had to sidestep in and out. We’ brought with us a magnificent hound named Duke.

Duke was solid tan, and huge! The kids rode him before they walked.

Dusk was falling by the time we gathered dead wood for fuel. Soon, a fire was crackling.

Out came wieners, marshmallows, chocolate grahams, and coat hanger spits.

After eating, we humans, and the dog, adjourned to the tent.

In most Texas counties after dark, coyotes howl as one. Hearing it, Duke bolted. He had a deep woof. Shortly, the bass bark was heard far away mingled with the coyotes wail.

We fell asleep. Duke slipped back in and bedded down with us.

Around midnight, I awoke chilly. Although it was early Autumn, The Texas nights were freezing.

I went outside, cranked the car, then pulled up to the tent, and tooted the horn.

The children ran out, and got in the back seat.

Duke got in the front seat with me. Everyone bundled up in the blankets they’ brought from the tent.

I'd let the heater run 'til the kids were asleep, then turn the car off. The encampment was near The Clear Fork of The Brazos River.

When everyone got up, we toted all the covers into the tent, so we could huddle together under them that night. We crossed the river on a gigantic steel bridge and went under it. We were then on the opposite bank of The Brazos' Clear Fork. We hopped a fence (even Duke jumped it!) and walked along the river until we came to a shallow place where we could cross.

The water moved so fast, when Duke tried to swim it, the current carried him way downstream. To the accompaniment of much human encouragement, he eventually gained the far shore, then trotted back, and joined the group.

The water nearest the bank was ice cold. It was a sunny day. After sitting in it, we got accustomed and could lay in it atop air cushions providing any sharp rocks had been removed from the area. We had to straddle the mattress before entering the water, sit on it so the current wouldn't take it, then lie on it.

The sun would bake whichever side was up, so we turned over often. When we flipped, the side formerly underwater was numb with cold. It’ take a couple minutes for the sun to thaw it.

All good things must come to an end, so we deflated the floaties. Being on the same side of the estuary as the campground, we moved away from the brook, past the trees, and got on a dirt road bounding the woods.

Duke lagged behind. It may’vbeen a good thing he did, for as we continued, a Longhorn loomed ahead in the path. Duke might've spooked the creature.

A Texas Longhorn replete with uncut horns is an awesome critter. The animal's horns can measure ten feet from tip to keratin point.

Once, the kids' uncle, a photographer, got close to the outside of a barbwire fence to snap a picture of one. The pen had a solitary Longhorn inside. While he focused, it charged. The man was intent on adjusting his lenses, and didn't realize it until the bovine was at a full gallop.

When he saw the image loom, and felt the ground tremble, he turned, tripped, then crawled away from the enclosure. The animal skidded to a stop at the fence, and twanged the top strand like a guitar string with the tip of a horn.

I said in a low voice, "Don't make any sudden moves. Just look at the ground, and walk slowly around it. If it charges us, run.”

It didn't do anything.

We made it to a metal gate, climbed over, then waited for Duke. Duke gave the beeve a wide berth; it may not've seen him.

We went back to the tent. After we rested and took rations (PB&J sandwiches washed down with soda pop), everyone hopped in the car. We went to nearby Fort Griffin.

Until about 1836, Texicans and the Commanches didn't get along. The settlers built a series of citadels. The route that connects them is today called, “The Texas Fort Trail”.  The fortresses were built whenever possible on hilltops that afforded a view of the surroundings. Fort Griffin was one of them. It was mostly ruins, but a few structures’d been preserved: the bakery, a powder magazine, and one of three billets. The lone barrack had been refurbished, equipped with air conditioning, and converted into a Tourism Headquarters.

The blazing heat of day made us wonder, “How in the world did people get by without AC before?”

The Clear Fork probably saw a lot of bathers.

There was a former water well with crossed steel bars over it. It was dried up.  In the last 50 years, Edward's Aquifer has fallen every year.  We could look in, and see two barn owls on bottom.  There were also some snakes visible. The owls most likely fed upon the snakes, getting water from them, and grew too big to get out.

The sun was sinking as we motored back to our tent. We hastily foraged for deadwood and started a blaze. Another gourmet feast was had. Chocolate coated graham crackers, when adorned with cooked marshmallows made “smores”.

It made me remember an outing I'd gone on as a youth. There was a steel property called “creep” strength (aka: ductility). It illustrated itself vividly in a straightened coat hanger. A little movement on one end resulted in a lot of motion on the other.  One kid’s marshmallows ignited. In his haste to blow out the fire, he jerked the flaming mass to his face. When he stopped moving his arm, the incendiary blob kept coming. It slapped him on the cheek, and left a bit of burning goo there. The kid howled a blood curdling screech until it cooled. On the same sojourn, everybody brought a can of beans, was instructed to punch a hole in it, then put it inside the circle of stones lining the pit. Someone forgot to punch a hole in their can. It blew up, throwing beans from here to yonder.

After we filled up on tubesteak and smores, we did some stargazing by the embers. Away from city lights, the Texas sky on a clear night was spectacular.

It’s been said the human mind cannot fully grasp the concept of infinity. It seemed there must be an end to space.

Some of the lights we saw as stars have died since shining the light. At the turn of the Twentieth Century, astronomers suspected this universe was expanding but would one day slow, stop altogether, then start coming back together in what was dubbed “The Big Crunch”, in which case mankind’d have about 460-million years before a cataclysmic collision.

In the 1920s, Edwin Hubble developed Doppler Shift Technology and proved the heavens were flying outward. In recent decades, a property of “Reverse Gravity” has been identified, repelling galaxies from one another.

Cosmic matter is accelerating.

In the distant future, no starlight will be visible from earth without telescopic aid. The furtherest objects in the known universe are called quasars. They speed away at nearly the velocity of light, and create virgin space as they enter it.

It made one wonder, “What was there before?”

We went inside, laid close enough to share body heats, covered ourselves with covers, and contemplated the mysteries of the pluraverse privately.

Duke left, then came back, and bedded down.

It got cold, but everyone slept through it.