This may have been my favorite Easter ever. It was certainly the nicest one I’d ever had at the Annual Luza Family Easter Camping Trip.

The weather was perfect. The days were only a little cool, requiring long sleeves, while the nights required only a sheet and light blanket.

For reference:

• We have camped at Easter when it was 80+ degrees with close to 100% humidity. We were all miserable.
• We have also camped at Easter in ~20-degree weather with sleet/ice—in the same weekend when we battled rattlesnakes. Again, we were miserable!
  [ Don’t you just love Texas in the spring??? 😉 ]

The new barn/shed Mom had installed is amazing. I expected a wood pavilion with nothing more than ~four posts and a nice roof, but the metal-sided building she selected has six garage doors. It’s perfect for keeping stuff safe there during the year (we justifiably worry about simple things like water hoses) as well as providing shelter to us if there is wind (which we needed this year) or rain.

Turtleor got a new baby sister: Valvet, which is it’s own story for our blog.

Our nephew, Chad, and his friend, have not only built a bunch of new trails for four-wheeling and hiking, they also have started constructing a shower area (with the help of our great-nephew Andrew and great-niece Ashlyn), and have planned a zip line!

After (my insistence and others’) encouragement, Chad also took us on the “First Annual Hayless Ride” around the property. Just before the little Luzas had to head to bed, we loaded up the flatbed trailer with blankets, made sure we all had drinks/snacks, and embarked on a journey around the property that belongs to E’s mom. Kids (by age and at heart) all had a great time and deemed this the new annual Friday night tradition to replace when the family used to run to the bridge to get blown away by the late-night train[1]. Thank  you, Chad!!!

Happy Easter, everyone.

[1] The bridge was moved from the tracks to a historic location in town less than one year before I started camping with E’s family. When we arrived at Dime Box—via the back roads, so we passed the bridge’s old location—that year, E was a bit devastated. He couldn’t explain to me what that tradition had meant. Like most things “Aggie”, it followed the pattern: From the outside looking in, you can’t understand it. From the inside looking out, you can’t explain it. E was crushed that I’d never experience the train the way they had all those years.