We’re spending a last week of summer at Smith Mountain Lake in VIrginia with my parents and one of my brothers and his family. We’ve rented a pontoon boat for the week and we’re staying in three separate places (cabin, camper, tents) and eating together.

Because we don’t get together often, visiting time is at a premium. But we’re filling our days with boating outings and feedings take several hours from prep to clean-up. So we collapse into bed late at night exhausted. I brought a couple of books but feel guilty about opening them, much less reading them.

We need a vacation agreement or covenant of some sort that would specify how we would sanely go about cramming everything in (and also identifying the activities that could not possibly get crammed in).

That sounds so cynical, I know. But I’ve read somewhere that Americans work at having fun more than any other nation. I believe it. I live it. Tomorrow, we’re getting up at 6:30 so we can hit the ground running on the last day, having spent all this money on the boat and all.

This afternoon, we had a forced march (hike) through the woods. It didn’t start out that way (they never do). But it surely ended that way. At one point I wanted to sit down in the middle of the path and quit. And smell. And let the view take my breath away. And hug my son. And kiss my daughter on the forehead (lightly) and take it in. The breeze and the sunlight glinting on the water.

We did some of that, surely. The group stopped to swim and I took some pictures (which they and I enjoyed). My son and I bonded while we raced through the forest like we were being chased by demons. What is that worth? A bit of frenetic haste? Surely.

Then we took a sunset cruise after dinner. Which didn’t exactly make it all come out right but certainly made for a nice consolation prize (even if I was thinking in the back of my mind that the cruise cost us $100 plus gas.)

And now we’re polishing off a bottle of Merlot and a bag of Doritos while the cousins put a jigsaw puzzle together (Papa will ferry them to the campsite layer). What could be finer?

Maybe we don’t need a plan after all. This vacation thing is a matter of putting the right pieces into play and letting the games begin. No planning. Put one foot in front of the other. Rent the boat. Lay on sufficient stock of munchies and wine. Let it be.

It works. Certainly it works. We’re family. What else could we do?