We rolled into Loyd Park on a warm, sunny Friday afternoon, the kind of day that makes you grateful for Texas winters. Our campsite came together quickly, just in time for Jon to hop on a Teams call (a reminder that even in nature, work sometimes tags along). By late afternoon, we were scooting around the camping loop, waving to friends and soaking in the easy rhythm of the park.

As the sun dipped low and temperatures began their evening plunge, we settled in for a Date Night supper that felt like pure comfort: Smoky beef brisket, creamy pea salad, and tangy baked beans. The chill drove us to build a campfire, its crackle promising warmth, but eventually we surrendered to the cold and retreated inside Cloud 9’s cozy confines. There, we queued up an episode of Rick Steves’ Europe about London, but exhaustion from the week caught up with us. We didn’t even make it to the end of the half-hour episode before falling asleep.

Saturday greeted us with gray skies and a damp chill, the kind that makes you linger indoors. We embraced it, settling into our usual weekend rituals: watching CBS Saturday Morning (a treat to see Anthony Mason back in the anchor chair!), taking a deep dive into The New York Times (including a fascinating review of a new book about Mary Ann Patten, the first female captain of a merchant clipper ship), making new discoveries on Ancestry, and reading recipes in our various magazines. Breakfast cocktails flowed into brunch, and then into a mid-afternoon nap.

By late afternoon, we ventured out on our scooters to explore a part of Loyd Park we’d somehow missed in 10 years of camping here. The day-use area was alive with friends gathering pecans and sharing laughter. It felt like stumbling into a secret pocket of the park, a reminder that even familiar places hold surprises. We returned to our site just as the sun painted the sky in soft hues, but instead of turning on the evening news, we lit a campfire and engaged in quiet conversation. Chef Cliff took over from there, grilling pork chops and steaming corn and broccoli for a simple, satisfying supper.

The night ended with one of our holiday traditions: watching The Trouble with Angels. This 1966 comedy about two mischievous girls in a Catholic boarding school never fails to charm us. Directed by Ida Lupino and starring Hayley Mills and Rosalind Russell, it’s a film that feels like home, especially because Jon’s mom, who attended an all-girls Catholic high school, swore it captured the spirit of her school days. Every December, we revisit it like an old friend.

Sunday arrived with a sharp cold front, freezing temperatures sealing our decision to stay inside. We lingered over coffee, snuggled under blankets, and savored the slow pace before packing up early for a holiday party at the home of Jon’s interim department chair. As we prepared to join him in celebrating the beginning of Hanukkah, news broke of a mass shooting at a Hanukkah beach party in Sydney, Australia. The contrast was jarring: An occasion meant for light and joy was suddenly overshadowed by violence. A rabbi interviewed on the news offered words that stayed with us: Hanukkah’s lights were first ignited 2,300 years ago and will not be extinguished. In that moment, the flicker of our campfire from the night before felt like part of something bigger: A quiet act of hope against the darkness.