Three years ago during a church trip to Washington, D.C., a friend and I dragged three sixth-grade girls out of the pandemic section of the National Museum of Natural History. My friend and I found this section depressing, but the girls were fascinated.

Who knew that a year later we would all be living through a pandemic?

Our family’s 2020 quarantine started like many others. We were fortunate that we had just rescued our puppy Mookie a week before the world shut down. Potty and sleep training gave us a focus in the beginning. Being a busy teenager, Mitchell was worn out from his three-sport schedule and high school classes. We spent a lot of time as a family, taking walks, sitting around the fire pit, watching movies and playing games.

At some point, we tired of it. Our personality differences became more pronounced as Julia, an extrovert, craved social interaction. I had long considered myself an extrovert as well, but my only child status and my 20-plus years of country living well-prepared me to entertain myself. Greg, an introvert, minded quarantine the least.

As fall approached, we heard the news of the projected winter spike in cases. I started to figure out how we were going to make it through winter without social gatherings outside.

I decided to purchase a night pass to a nearby ski area for Julia and me. She had been skiing for a few years, and I took a 20-year hiatus from skiing. My parents were not skiers, but I skied when we lived in Minnesota and then later in Michigan throughout high school. While I enjoyed skiing, it was not necessarily a hobby I expected to return to.

When Julia was in elementary school, the Pennsylvania Ski Areas Association offered a discounted pass for fourth- and fifth-graders. She wanted to try it, and since an adult needed to take her, I volunteered.

As a parent, one of the first things I noticed was that there are a lot of uber-fit dads who ski. But there are not a lot of moms who ski, at least moms I know.

No matter. I don’t mind skiing alone. The closest ski area to us is a 48-minute drive, and if I am at a ski area, I would prefer to ski rather than sit in the lodge.

Since Julia started, I hadn’t invested in a season pass, as I only went a few times a year. But skiing was an excellent, socially distanced sport for the pandemic year.

Thankfully we had a decent amount of snow for south central Pennsylvania and were able to get good use out of our passes. Julia found several friends to ski with. On rare occasions, she agreed to ski with me. I warned her not to run into me.

“If I fall, I might die,” I said. “I am too old to fall.”

Unfortunately, I didn’t need her help to fall.

Mitchell has snowboarded a handful of times over the years but was always too busy with other sports to do it consistently. His girlfriend Rachel had never been skiing or snowboarding, so I told them I would take them when they had a few days off. Originally, we scheduled the trip for the week after Christmas, but due to COVID quarantines and weather, we ended up postponing it multiple times.

We finally moved our skiing date to the first weekend in March right before Mitchell’s junior baseball season started. Greg warned me Mitchell better not get injured. After all, the kid already lost his sophomore season.

I rented an Airbnb across from a lake near Elk Mountain in Union Dale, Pa. We arrived in the evening and after traversing the remote road several times we finally found the house. After some tasty Thai takeout we picked up in Scranton and a few hands of Dutch Blitz, we went to sleep so we could get an early start.

With teenagers, however, one can only get so early of a start. We were out of the door by 9, but as we drove to the end of the road, we saw a line of cars backed up. A tractor-trailer had jackknifed onto the road. And upon looking for alternative routes, we found that the road had a dead-end.

There was nothing to do but return to the Airbnb and wait it out. Finally, after two hours, I noticed the neighbor across the street had left and not returned. We loaded ourselves into the car and drove to the mountain.

While the facilities at Elk Mountain hadn’t been updated in a while, the resort made up for it based on price and natural beauty. Since both Rachel and Julia wanted to try snowboarding, I dropped the kids at their lesson and set off on my own. 

After skiing exclusively at the small resort near our house frequently without natural snow, I felt such joy to be skiing longer trails in real snow. As our visit was on a non-crowded weekday in the height of the pandemic with many people still unvaccinated, it seemed acceptable to ride the lifts solo. Also, wearing a mask served a dual purpose of protection against COVID and cold.

Despite our delayed start, we enjoyed our day and were able to leave in time to make it home for Mitchell’s late-night futsal game and Julia’s swim meet the next day.

The next morning, I woke at 5:45 for the swim meet and checked my phone. I had four texts from Julia saying she had a temperature of 102 and a raging headache.

“I don’t think I can make it to the swim meet,” she wrote.

At 8 a.m., I called the doctor’s office to schedule an appointment. Following a rapid COVID test, the resident shared with us that Julia had COVID.

Two days before Mitchell’s junior baseball season was about to start.

We broke the news to Greg and Mitchell, who were understandably bummed. Of course, they were concerned for Julia, but they also didn’t know what this meant for baseball.

I tried to quell my anxiety by opening a more-expensive-than-usual bottle of wine my friend had recommended – Black Girl Magic. I drank two delicious glasses and went to bed. Sadly, the bottle went to waste as I woke up with a fever on Sunday. Monday, Mitchell woke up with a fever.

While awful, thankfully the three of us emerged from COVID without difficulty breathing or hospital visits. Despite some long-term issues with taste and smell (one will never again find me in Bath and Body Works), we came out relatively unscathed.

And Mitchell was still able to play baseball.

The last two years have not been easy for anybody. For our family, March 2021 was one of the more difficult months. The Sunday I came down with the fever, a couple from our church called Greg and told him they wanted to bring us dinner from Harvey’s Barbeque. This gesture opened a well of tears from me that wouldn’t stop. As sick and sad as I was, I felt surrounded by kindness and love.

When considering the past three years, I would have preferred to have read about pandemics at the natural history museum rather than live through one. But then I think about the four of us sprawled on couch watching Hoosiers, playing (arguing over) The Great Dalmuti, and walking Mookie in the rain to our neighbors’ farm to buy asparagus. I think about the beautiful cold snowy views of the Poconos from Elk Mountain and the feeling of calm while traversing the mountain at my ultra-slow pace. But most of all, I think of the kindness of others when things seemed at their worst.

Twenty years ago last August, Greg and I honeymooned on Prince Edward Island. I chose this destination due to my love for the Anne of Green Gables book series, and luckily Greg acquiesced.

As anticipated, PEI was beautiful. In the course of the week, we drove around the entire island and marveled at the flat potato fields that butted right up to the ocean. During that week, a fellow tourist suggested we also visit Nova Scotia, as the topography was completely different.

It has been on my bucket list ever since.

In those 20 years, we’ve also known people who have visited Nova Scotia, including my parents. My great-grandmother came from Nova Scotia and after visiting her hometown and the countryside surrounding it, my mom declared she would like her ashes spread on a sheep farm there.

After sweating it out for 10 days in the desert in August 2017, my plan for 2018 was to visit someplace where we didn’t have to hide in our hotel room when it became too hot. After reading Nova Scotia guidebooks and referring to our children’s summer sports schedule, I determined that June would be the optimal time to visit. July and August are the busiest tourist months, which leaves June to enjoy cooler temperatures, fewer crowds, and cheaper rates.

After hearing about my parents’ trips, I was interested in spending a few days in Halifax before heading to Cape Breton Island. We opted to stay in AirBnBs and found a charming urban loft apartment housed in a renovated church in Halifax.

After a late afternoon arrival in Halifax and dinner, we woke up the next morning and drove to Pier 21, Canada’s smaller version of Ellis Island. Pier 21 wasn’t the original location for immigrants to land when they arrived in Canada, as that pier burned down. However, Pier 21 was the entry point for immigrants arriving in Canada between the years of 1928 to 1971. As with many historical attractions, a short movie aired detailing the history. The film highlighted the openness of Canadians to immigrants, which we found both inspiring and depressing considering the current state of affairs in the U.S.

Following our visit to the museum, we enjoyed lunch at the neighboring Halifax Seaport Farmers’ Market. Greg and I opted for lobster rolls, while Julia chose Chinese food and Mitchell ate fish and chips. We enjoyed a stroll along the harbor walk before trudging several miles in the unseasonably warm temperatures to locate a bookstore and bubble tea cafe.

For dinner, we chose the highly recommended 2 Doors Down. The four of us each chose lobster risotto for our meal, splitting cheesecake and rhubarb pie for dessert. We vowed to make it back to the restaurant at the end of our trip if we were able. On the walk home from dinner, I guided the family to yet another bookstore, the charming, independently-owned Bookmark. At the time, I wasn’t aware of the well-known Halifax Public Library, which we passed but didn’t visit.

We woke on our second morning to find a parking ticket on our rental car. Somehow we missed the street cleaning notice and parked in a restricted area. At that point, Greg was ready to leave the city where my laid-back attitude about driving makes him crazy.

Our next destination took us 30 miles southwest to the iconic fishing village of Peggy’s Cove. There, we spent a few hours exploring the rocks surrounding the lighthouse. Greg and the kids climbed as close as possible to the edge, while I spent most of the time yelling at everyone to move back. Near the end of our visit, a bagpiper appeared on the rocks and played “Amazing Grace.”

For lunch, we found a shack in the village that served the most delicious lobster rolls we’d ever eaten. I regret that I didn’t follow my lunch with rhubarb ice cream, a decision made after excessive spending at lunch and a lack of Canadian cash.

Our afternoon was again spent in the car, as we made the almost four-hour drive north to Cape Breton Island.

Cape Breton became famous in the U.S. during the 2016 presidential election, when a DJ from the island invited Americans to move there if Donald Trump was elected.  That humorous offer, combined with friends’ photos, solidified my desire to visit.

On Cape Breton, I had reserved a 3-bedroom ranch through AirBnB in Port Hood, on the southwestern side of the island. Perched above the water, the home was cozy and spacious, with a lovely deck that overlooked the ocean and a neighboring horse pasture.

We arrived in Port Hood at dinnertime and stumbled upon the Clove Hitch Bar and Bistro. The food was good, but what we found most endearing was the hospitality of the locals. Seating was limited, but when new customers arrived, other patrons greeted them with hugs and invites to join their tables. During our meal, a singer entertained the crowd, but when a customer decided he wanted to sing, the performer handed over his guitar and mike. The playlist consisted of mostly cover songs, and when the guests knew the words, they joined in.

One mistake I made in planning the trip to Cape Breton was that I didn’t research the distances among towns well enough. We chose Port Hood because friends had recommended it, but it was still more than an hour drive to the town of Cheticamp and the entrance to Cape Breton Highlands National Park, which the guidebook calls “the crown jewel” of Nova Scotia.

After hearing this glowing description, we weren’t going to let the distance deter us. On our first full day, we drove to the national park, stopping at the visitor’s center for advice. The ranger advised that no matter what we do in our two days at the park, that we definitely drive through the entire park, as all sides offer differing views.

Total travel time:  one hour, 40 minutes.

We took the ranger’s advice, stopping at several lookout points and taking a few short hikes.

The ranger also recommended if we did make it through the entire park that we eat dinner in Ingonish, as it had the best seafood. Our family loves seafood, so we made sure we reached Ingonish by dinner.

Once we were fed and exhausted, we headed back to Port Hood. Unfortunately, we realized that Ingonish was much farther east than Cheticamp, and we still had a 2.5-hour drive.

The next day we ventured back to the national park to conquer the breathtaking seven-kilometer (four-mile) Skyline Trail hike. Despite the gorgeous views, my children increased my anxiety again by climbing as close to the edge of cliffs as possible in 20-mile per hour winds.

That night, we drove to the Red Shoe Pub in Mabou for dinner. Unfortunately, the small pub was full. We added our name to the waiting list and crammed into a corner. While we were waiting, a man who had just paid his bill approached us and told us that he wanted us to have his table. We were overwhelmed by his kindness, especially considering that he and his party could have stayed all night listening to the live bagpipe music.

Sadly, after three nights in Cape Breton, it was time to head back to Halifax.

Julia and I made a muddy stop in the rain at a beach in Port Hood before the drive back.

Our trip home was uneventful, with the exception of a glimpse of the most wonderful vending machine I’ve ever seen.

Overall, we had a relaxing week with many cultural learning opportunities without crossing the Atlantic. While sitting in the plane on the tarmac, I wrote in a rare tweet, “Sad to leave this beautiful province with some of the warmest and most polite people I’ve encountered.”

Last March when I started thinking about Mitchell’s 13^th birthday, it occurred to me that we had only five more summers left before he went to college. Then I panicked. Only five more summer vacations? It has gone so fast.

And I thought I better get planning. What part of the country do I want these kids to experience before they head out on their own?

I decided on the Southwest.

Despite the fact that my family traveled a good bit growing up, prior to marrying Greg I had never been to the Southwest. For our five-year anniversary, we went to Arizona, because we had friends we could visit in Tempe while also sightseeing. Several years later, the two of us traveled to New Mexico, based on my desire to go to Santa Fe and Taos. But there were still huge chunks we hadn’t seen.

After talking to a friend who traveled to the Southwest a year ago with her family, we decided on an itinerary. We would fly into Vegas, rent a car, drive to southern Utah, then to the Grand Canyon and Sedona, and fly home from Phoenix.

Neither Greg nor I had ever been to Vegas, so I figured we should stay there a couple of days before moving on.

There is nothing like visiting Vegas during the hottest month of the year with two kids in tow.

Our plane landed at almost 10 p.m. Vegas time. By the time we collected our luggage, secured the rental car and made our way to our hotel/casino it was 11:30. Greg and Jules stayed in the car while Mitchell and I waited in a 45-minute line to check in.

When we finally made it to our room at 12:30 (3:30 a.m. our time), it was still being cleaned.

Despite that hiccup, we managed to get a restful night’s sleep, and I woke up ready to explore.

When it comes to traveling, I can be a bit of a slave driver. During my first trip to Europe in my early teens, my aunt gave me the advice to “Take advantage of every opportunity and enjoy it to the fullest.”

It has been my mantra ever since.

On our first full day in Vegas, I decided we should walk the strip and check out the casinos. Unfortunately, the temperature was more than 100 degrees. Luckily, there were plenty of casinos in which to get respite from the heat.

While some people wouldn’t attempt to bring their children to Vegas, I saw it as an education. Some women wearing only G-strings and pasties first approached us to have our picture taken with them outside Excalibur. We saw them again when we ducked into CVS to buy water. Greg was nowhere to be found as the kids and I tried to exit CVS while an employee turned the women away for not wearing enough clothing.

“That’s not fair,” said Julia. “Those ladies are thirsty, too.”

Indeed they were.

A little over 24 hours after arriving in Vegas, we were ready to move on. After eating at In-N-Out Burger on the outskirts of town, we began the three-hour drive through the desert to Southern Utah.

Our destination was the lovely town of Springdale outside of Zion National Park. While I originally had planned to find lodging through Airbnb somewhere between Zion and Bryce Canyon National Park, my friend recommended we stay in Springdale and I’m so glad she did.

The area offered free shuttle rides through the town and into the national park. Lucky for us, in honor of the 100^th anniversary of the National Park Service, all fourth-graders and their families got in free to national parks last summer. Thanks to Julia, we saved at least $90.

On our first full day in Utah, we decided to make the two-hour trip to Bryce. To get there, we drove through Zion. Several cars had stopped at a narrow curve, so we pulled over, too.  Mitchell, our family photographer, got some great shots of bighorn sheep posing near the edge of the road.

Bryce is the smaller of the two parks and known for its hoodoos, red rock formations shaped like upside down twisters. We arrived shortly after lunch and asked at the visitor’s desk what the best short hike would be for our day-hiking family. The ranger recommended a three-mile hike she claimed “Camping” magazine had ranked as the most scenic three-mile hike in North America.

The hike and hoodoos were spectacular. Unfortunately, the sky looked ominous and the forecast called for thunderstorms. I read in multiple brochures not to get caught in a thunderstorm. Also, we did not have the gear to withstand a downpour. This made for a tense hike while Mitchell stopped for numerous photo opps.

We finished right as the skies opened.

Our time exploring Zion was not as adventurous, as we opted to pass on the popular Narrows hike after hearing numerous rangers inform tourists to hike the Narrows at their own risk due to flash flooding.

We also passed on the steep Angels Landing Trail and opted for an easier hike on the Lower and Upper Emerald Pool Trails. On this hike and at several shuttle stops throughout the park, we experienced the beauty of this park.

After two full days in Utah, we packed up and headed south.

Due to my belated planning, I could not get a hotel near the Grand Canyon, and instead booked a room in Williams, Ariz., an hour away.

On our four-hour drive to Williams, we found ourselves stopped for a bathroom break at Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument in Kanab, Utah. The barren landscape and small visitor’s center tucked down a curved drive made me feel like we were in an episode of The X Files. Upon entering the building, the kids happily located the gift shop, and Greg wandered over to the display containing dinosaur fossils discovered there.

A five-minute bathroom break turned into a 30-minute stop after which we exited with this souvenir of a sheep in a can.

Sadly, since our visit there, Donald Trump has issued a proclamation to reduce the amount of land protected by this national monument.

Shortly after Grand-Staircase Escalante, we passed Lake Powell, a breathtaking turquoise body of water in the middle of the desert. A former co-worker of mine had rented a houseboat on Lake Powell years ago. At the time, I thought it an odd choice for a vacation, but after observing the lake firsthand, I can understand the appeal.

We finally made it to Williams, a charming town on Route 66. We didn’t have much time to explore, however, as we wanted to spend as much time in the Grand Canyon as possible.

On our first day, we slept in and did not get moving until late morning. That was a mistake, as the Grand Canyon at noon in the middle of August was packed. We waited at least 30 minutes in the car just to enter the park. As we walked the scenic Rim Trail, we dodged fellow tourists the entire way.

Hot and tired, by mid-afternoon we headed back to Williams. We enjoyed a delicious meal at the Barrel and Bottle and made plans to wake up early the next morning for a ranger-led hike on the South Kaibab Trail at the Grand Canyon at 7 a.m.

We reached the park within minutes of seven and waited impatiently for the shuttle to take us to the trailhead. Fortunately, we joined the group in time to make the 1.5-mile hike into the canyon. The weather was cool and the scenery beautiful as we shuffled down the steep, dusty, often slippery trail.

Our ranger educated us about the vegetation and wildlife and identified several California condors flying overhead.

Our trek back up the trail was more strenuous than that on the way down. Partway up, the two child athletes tired of our pace and sprinted up the canyon. They filled up our water bottles, and when we finally reached the top, persuaded us to treat them to ice cream for lunch.

Our last destination in Arizona before heading to Phoenix was Sedona.

The excursion we loved in Sedona during our previous visit was the Pink Jeep Tour, so we were excited to take the kids to repeat this experience.

We also visited the gorgeous Chapel of the Holy Cross and much to Julia’s delight, shopped.

Unfortunately, the abundance of spiders in our hotel room tarnished our memories of Sedona. Spiders don’t usually bother us since we have many in our old farmhouse. But not only did I spy two black  hairy spiders on the bathroom floor, but a third such spider  also woke Greg up by crawling on his back.

Needless to say, we were all ready to move on to our final destination of Phoenix.

My original plan had been to drive directly to the airport; however, the baseball fans in the family suggested we show up a day early to see a Diamondbacks game.

As with any half-hearted baseball fan, besides the field’s retractable roof, the highlight of the game for Julia was the food. During the trip, Julia had become obsessed with churros. She had tried them at camp earlier in the summer and ordered them at a Mexican restaurant in Sedona. She even used her spending money to buy a stuffed cat, whom she named Churro.

Luckily for her, one of the specials at Chase Field is the Churro Dog, a churro placed on a long-john donut, topped with frozen yogurt, chocolate and caramel sauce. It did not disappoint, with the exception of the soggy donut on the bottom.

After the game ended (the Dodgers won), we trudged back to our hotel, worn out from the excessive heat and 10 days of overindulging in Southwestern cuisine and dessert at every opportunity. Overall, we had a wonderful vacation, filled with memorable sightseeing, minimal electronic usage, and most importantly, quality family time. Now the question is — where to travel next?