We visited this same campground, and now a changed woman arrives and she is me. I can see familiar Big Island Hawai’i hallmarks at Whittington Park—an easygoing camp space where families, especially large groups, enjoy these ancient grounds bookshelved by two fishponds, a land to read and decode. Last time we attempted to be here overnight, I got spooked. That was in June 2015. And in March 2022, I can now flow in a better groove with these island cultures.

A crackling fire inside a careful circle, built with lava rocks that encase the flame’s flicker and fling, trying to avoid fire-causing ash. An evening walk, earlier, to one fish sanctuary where I watched a turtle frolic in the water, fins poking through the glittery surface as she paddles, and a sashay on her side as front and back fins flip in a seeming wave to me standing on the dirt bank nearby.

Evening time now so the wind spikes in temperature and drift, yet still pleasant sitting outside in this nearly 8 p.m. camping-time cocoon. And the fat full-full moon shines feint tangerine orange light through translucent white clouds. On either side of us are busy families, parents chaperoning keiki on the prayer that they agree to settle in for the night’s rest as everyone goes to their tents, flashlights bouncing inside them, maybe a semaphore for happy sleep just ahead.

A campfire, a turtle, the wind, a full moon, and happy campers. Last time we were here my son was five, and now he is 11. We left the campground after I had made a cozy space for us in our wide accommodating hatchback car. An eerie van person was not so far over in the parking lot and that was enough to warn me away. We drove to a calm neighborhood in the town nearby called Naalehu and slept—soundly for my son and erratically for me.  

Even that time, though, we had the other reliable positive hallmarks. My confidence relied on puzzling should we stay or go, and I decided on safety’s side. Probably parent safety-decision number 28 of the day. All the others are so instant they blend unnoticed until time for sleep and Mama’s tightly wound neck muscles reveal how the day went. Parenting is that flow and we just learn to let go some each day as the child continues growing up healthy.

The change this Whittington Campground overnight stay is to say hello to those around us, making the light connection, and to trust that I am in good hands on the aina (land), under the bright moon, and shimmering bright red embers as the campfire finishes. After 11 years of full-time parenting, I have learned to go on my intuition and all the signs are happening right now to portend nighttime nourishing rest will be gifted my son and me.