Nine households and more than thirty people spent four days at Indian Cove, tucked under the granite boulders of Joshua Tree National Park. Most of us had never met before we pulled into camp.
We picked Indian Cove because it lets you sleep right inside the boulder field. You step out of your tent and the rocks are just there, house-sized, stacked at impossible angles, glowing pink at sunset.
One of the couples who came turned out to be actual 90s DJs, so the first evening became a campfire singalong that turned into a full dance circle in the sand. People who had introduced themselves four hours earlier were singing every word of the same songs they grew up on.
There was a full moon that week. At 9pm somebody floated the idea of a mile-and-a-half night hike through the boulders with no headlamps, just the moon, and everyone said yes. Nobody fell. Everyone came back quieter than they left.
The second night a windstorm came through with gusts that felt like 50 mph. Canvas tents squat low and shrug that off, but watching the walls bow in is unsettling the first time. The phones lit up. Everybody was fine, and over pancakes the next morning the stories came out.
Then, tired and short on sleep, the group voted to take on Ryan Mountain. A thousand vertical feet, almost straight up, no real breaks. Every kid in the group made it to the top.
A few of the families grew up in restaurants, and it showed. Smoked salmon, sourdough baked in the mornings, brisket and ribs off the grill, pancakes and real coffee. Nobody cooks alone, nobody cleans alone, nobody eats alone.
The teenagers arrived not knowing each other and a couple of them arrived skeptical. By the third day they were scrambling up the boulders together to watch the sunset, no parents required, and on the drive home more than one asked whether we could put on a sleepaway camp.
