Hoyt Lakes Campground -- My Favorite Place
My favorite place is a formerly-open campground near Aurora, Minnesota: Hoyt Lakes. For as long as I can remember, that has been our summer camping trip, along with a couple friends from my dad’s work.
A Friday in late August, my parents would spend all day packing up the truck hitching up the pull-behind camper, and pick me and my brother up at school. I would be so excited when I walked out the front doors and saw the big, black Dodge pull into the parking lot.
I’d always say I was going to sleep on the way and tell my dad to put my pillow in the cramped backseat for me, but I never did. No matter how many times we went up there, I was always too excited to sleep, too interested in the seldom-seen scenery. We would stop off along the way, usually at a Denny’s or a home-town café, and then to a grocery store to pick up food for the weekend.
I got so excited when I saw that big lake, our usual camping spot barely visible across the blue water, the rusting water-treatment building on the opposite side of the road telling us we were almost there. We turned at the big sign stating Hoyt Lakes Campground, seeing the bike trail we always used, and the leaves covering the old tar driveway. We’d pass the entrance gate with the toll-booth, tennis-courts visible behind it through the woods, and hear the rusted swings from the playground as the wind blew through our open windows.
My brother and I would kick the back of the seat, urging our parents out of the car as fast as we could so we could look at our access to the lake. After skipping a few rocks, we would beg our dad to take the bikes out of the back of the truck and we would take off, seeing what has changed at the area with the boat landing, parking lot, and basketball court on the end of the peninsula the campground was situated on, before heading the opposite way to find Jim and Diane Empey, the camping buddies.
We would pull into their campsite, not seeing them for a couple months and very excited to do so, and first greet their Pug, Max, before entering their Motor Home for a pop. We would talk for a while of how our summer was going and how excited we were for the next school year while our parents set up the camper next door, and they would come over after.
That Friday night would be the first fire of two. After taking out the boat for a simple trip around the lake, we would eat casserole Diane made, tomato or tuna, our choice, and stay up until eleven ’o’ clock or it got too cold to be outside.
We piled into our camper, me, being the youngest, on the upper bed, my parents below me on the fold-out couch, and my brother at the opposite end of the camper, toward the front, on the fold-down table. It was cramped and warm and quiet and funny all at the same time until we fell asleep.
It’s funny how, on days that you are at home and have nothing to do, you can sleep all day, but when you are somewhere new, no matter how comfortable your bed is, you always seem to wake up early. That’s how my brother and I felt. We would yell and stomp to get our parents awake so we could walk over to Jim and Diane’s campsite for breakfast.
Once we were fed and ready for the day to begin, we would all hop on our bikes and take a trip into town. Thinking about it now, I don’t really remember how long it was, maybe a mile or two, but it always seemed longer when you were thinking back on it and shorter when it happened. I do remember, though, the fact that my brother and I were good cyclists. While our parents and the Empey’s were leisurely riding, taking in the sights, sounds, and fresh air, we were speeding ahead. We would have to turn around about five times for the others to catch up.
Usually, when we got into town, we would stop off at a gas station, and then at an antique shop to view the items we hadn’t seen before. We would eat lunch in town, at a café specializing in pizza, before heading back to the campground. It’s surprising, however many years we went up to Hoyt Lakes and went biking on Saturday, it was always a nice day. Sure, other times, it had been rainy or cloudy, sometimes even stormy, but whenever that day came around, it was the best day you could imagine. That was my favorite part of the trip.
Back at the campground, Jim would take my dad out in the boat for fishing and my brother and I would take out the dog and got on a pier of rocks surrounding a little whirlpool and just take in the sights. We would go down to playground and hang out with other kids and then go to the long dock down another end of the bike path, thinking we only had one more half-day to spend there.
My favorite times with my brother are at that campground, some of my favorite pictures, and memories of the beauty around me took place there, and even thoughts of my favorite family times. Even when we thought our parents would be worried about us when we would say “We’re going for a bike ride,” and cycle nearly into town, it was my favorite.
Unfortunately, due to many circumstances, we haven’t been to that campground for five years. I asked my dad about going back last summer and he hit me with the bad news: it was closed. I was crushed. It’s a wonder to me how such a great place could be closed for lack of funding or residency. I know sometime I would like to go back there, hope it’s still there, and just walk around, take in the scenery, and remember the fun times I had there.