About company, Ben Franklin once said, “Fish and visitors smell in three days.” But my sister Joan discovered how to resolve Franklin’s dilemma: Reserve an entire campground, then invite all your friends and relatives.

A secluded campground at Sequoia National Park in the Sierra Mountains was Joan’s chez-du-week. For $150 a night, she reserved a site that accommodates 100 people near a giant sequoia grove. (Other locations handle from 25 to 50 campers for lower cost.) We wound up using only about half the space, which meant everyone had plenty of room to spread out. Still, the cost came to less than $13 per family per night. For those who disdain tents and primitive toilets or for physical reasons can’t manage the sleeping bag routine, there was a lodge close by with accommodations. Most national and state parks have similar facilities located near the campgrounds.

The benefits of “owning” your campsite are huge. There is no interference from outsiders—except for deer, bears, and park rangers, the latter tending to sanitation and bear-intrusion issues. We established unofficial kid and no-kid zones and quiet-after-10 p.m. zones. In the evenings, we had bonfires where everyone told stories, played games, and enjoyed music. We also made plans for the next day; the list of possible activities included hiking, fishing, swimming in the lake, and playing games.

One of the best things about camping together is the group grub. Bonnie was designated “queen of cuisine,” which meant she had to plan evening meals. Weeks ahead of time, menus and cooking teams were assigned. Dinners were kept simple: pasta, tacos, chili, and Betty Ann’s famous chicken, all accompanied by heaping salad selections. There is a bit of pride associated with putting out a tasty spread, and we all benefited from the effort. Lunches, however, usually were had “on the hoof,” using either prepackaged meals, trail mix, or leftovers. After such daytime fare, nothing could compare to
limping in from a long day’s hike to be greeted with the wonderful aroma of a fabulous dinner.

Every national park has its unique features, and Sequoia is no exception. From atop a granite monolith, Moro Rock, you can view the superlatives that brought the region into the National Park System. Giant sequoia trees come about as close to achieving immortality as anything on earth. Only one living thing exists longer, the bristlecone pine. Three trees grow taller (redwood pines are the tallest at 369 feet), but none is larger here than the 275-foot-tall General Sherman sequoia, whose trunk weighs an estimated 1,385 tons and has a 103-foot circumference. Another monster, the General Grant sequoia, has been designated the nation’s Christmas tree and is estimated to be more than 3,000 years old.

Our gaggle hiked along a 4.2-mile trail that ascends 1,500 feet toward Heather Lake. During the four-hour round-trip trek, there were no TVs, cell phones, Internet, or video games. The only interferences were the human voice and spectacular scenery. At three-quarters of the way, a rocky outcropping called the Watchtower overlooks glacial Tokopah Canyon. Granite peaks and tumbling waterfalls—not to mention the altitude and steep trail—take one’s breath away. As one climber we met noted, “How can you look at that and not believe in God?”