The Front Porch: Spotty weather creates unpredictable memories

It seems every family has a treasured vacation memory. Camping trips, lake cabin visits, a jaunt to Disneyland – whenever family members gather, vacation tales pepper the conversation.

What I mostly recall about our excursions is the rain.

When I was a child, it seemed that no matter where we went or what time of year we traveled, it rained. It poured in Glacier National Park in August. It stormed on the Oregon coast in July. Downpours dogged our outings like paparazzi on a pop star.

The advent of the Weather Channel and the Internet has made it possible to scout seven-day forecasts and track approaching storms. So I’ve tried my best to provide my children with rain-free holidays, but it hasn’t always worked. Optimism and Doppler radar are no match for Mother Nature.

On the Friday of Labor Day weekend, we decided to spend the day at Silverwood Theme Park. The forecast was iffy, but it was our last chance for family fun before school started.

It didn’t occur to us that the reason for the light crowds at the park probably was that other people had studied the weather forecast in more depth.

We tried the new family waterslide. The six of us clambered into the big yellow tube and away we went.

Seven-year-old Sam cried the entire way down. The heavier the person, the higher the tube banked on the turns, so, of course, Sam, seated next to his dad, was soaring. I was torn between praying he’d hold on to the straps and trying not to laugh at the terror on both of their faces.

In our family, we’re big on “getting back on the horse,” so up we went again. This time, Sam sat next to me, and I told him, “Keep your eyes on Daddy’s face.” He laughed the entire way down.

Periodically, rain would sputter, but when the sun came out, the air was balmy.

We enjoyed not having to wait in line for the attractions. Our luck held out until the end of the evening. We changed into our dry clothes after leaving Boulder Beach, and half the gang boarded the train ride while the other half enjoyed the roller coasters.

In the distance, lightning began to flash and the ominous sound of thunder shook the air. Suddenly, a storm of biblical proportions descended. The headlines the next day read, “Thunderstorms knock out power.”

We were eyewitnesses.

The six of us reunited under a flimsy awning while the sky dumped buckets. Spectacular streaks of lightning lit the darkening sky, while park workers hurried to shut down the rides. We clung together in a sodden group hug as our once-dry duds got wetter by the second.

Periodically, the deluge would weaken, and we’d dash to the next covered awning. We hopscotched our way to the parking lot, soaked, exhausted and hungry.

I just wanted to get takeout for dinner and head home, but our tradition has been to end a day at Silverwood with dinner at the Hot Rod Café. So our damp party hit the highway and finally arrived at the restaurant.

We had just placed our orders when the lights went out. We sat in the dark as the manager and wait staff assured patrons that the generator would kick in soon.

It didn’t. We exited the restaurant by the light of our cell phones.

The novelty of the adventure paled for Sam. “I’m hungry. I don’t like this day. I think I’m going to starve,” he wailed.

His brothers, however, were thrilled by the lights-out fiasco. “This is great,” our oldest enthused.

At 10 that night, we finally staggered into a 24-hour diner in Spokane Valley. Soon, everyone was warm and fed, though still damp.

While the boys chattered about the day’s highlights, I was struck that no one was complaining about our less-than-perfect outing.

As parents, we try so hard to plan for every contingency – to create idyllic memorable moments. It could be we’re missing the point. Maybe all our careful planning just gets in the way.

Sometimes. you just have to tip your head back and enjoy the storm.