Blast from the Past

A trip out to Terlingua to contemplate a change in that direction last weekend brought me home through a place I haven't been in more than 30 years.
Camping trips with my mother and daddy for as long as I can remember, usually involved a river... most of the time it was the Devil's River. In a pop-up tent trailer pulled behind a station wagon, we would make our way from Lubbock to the river near Del Rio, Texas. Down a long caliche road, past the old man's shed who rented the camping spot to us, we would find a shady area and set up camp.
My daddy made a kitchen cabinet that folded up into a box with handles. When it was unfolded, it had 4 legs to stand on, opened up to create a place for the camp stove, utensils and cooking spices or whatever he would use to cook. Later a wash basin for washing the metal plates and collapsible cups we used for the meal. I don't remember the meals, but I know from my own camping, those are the best meals ever made.
Daddy would fish, Mother would fish, brothers would fish... I think I mainly played, but I was the youngest and not more than 6 or 8 the last time we camped there.
Nearly every trip, and I know we went at least 2 times a year, on our way out of the canyon where it was green with lush vegetation, we would climb the caliche road, with rocks and barren ground on both sides of the car. Daddy would say if I saw a rock I wanted to just holler and he would stop to get it for me. We had quite a collection at home already. Once, in a fit of orneryness, I said, flippantly, oh that one and pointed to a huge rock, too big for any vehicle we ever had. Of course he stopped, not knowing what I had pointed at... so I picked another one close by... Daddy happily picked it up and put it in the car, thinking he had just made his little girl happy.
One year, a huge rattlesnake was in the road and I remember Daddy getting out and throwing rocks at it. Fear and excitement enveloped us all in our seats as we watched with a sense of safety in the car.
I always thought, as a very young girl, my daddy was strong and brave and not afraid of anything. It is a very comforting thought.
Once one of my brothers found a goat near by, a baby goat, and picked it up and carried it back to camp. The mother goat came after him of course. Well, he ran into the trailer, with the cabrito in his arms and the mother goat ran around  the camper having a fit until my mother screamed at him to let the baby go.

We spent Easter there sometimes, or other holidays when it was chilly outside, but mostly we were there in the heat of the summer on our way to or home from Piedras Negras across from Del Rio. Until one time, when we knew they were damming up the river to create a reservoir. The last time I was down that caliche road, you couldn't see the old man's shack where we bought worms and paid for our camping spot, and where we camped was much farther down the hill from there. It was covered with water, and the only way we knew it was the right spot was because the light pole next to his shack was above the water about 4 feet.
The trees, the grass, the beautiful fishing and camping spot was gone.

Last night I drove across the Amistad Reservoir and cried. Things change, memories fade, and those who know them best and could tell the story better are long gone... all I have are my childhood memories and how I remember them from the prospective of a 6ish year old.