We arrived at Loyd Park on Thursday evening, easing into the long weekend with intention and just the right amount of anticipation. There’s something about getting an early start, staking out our space, and settling into Cloud 9 that feels like reclaiming time.

Chef Cliff kicked things off in classic fashion with Philadelphia cheesesteak sandwiches and crispy tater tots. It was simple, satisfying, and exactly what the moment called for. Dinner carried us into a relaxed evening capped by Stephen Colbert’s final Late Night show. We wanted to love it more than we did, but in the end, it landed somewhere around “meh.” Not every finale can stick the landing.

Friday morning brought a different rhythm. Jon had work to do on The Healing Arts, the residency literary publication, and what started as fine-tuning quickly turned into a full reconfiguration of its pages. That decision set off a chain reaction of redesign that stretched well into the afternoon. By the time evening rolled around, we were ready to shift gears.

We planned for Date Night dinner, but sometimes the brain simply runs out of bandwidth. After an intense day of creative work, Jon crashed around 8:30. Rather than push through, we listened to what the day required and postponed Date Night to Saturday. Rest, it turns out, was the better choice.

At around 3 a.m., a strong line of thunderstorms swept through North Texas, delivering heavy rain, gusty winds, and flashes of lightning that lit up the campground. There’s something about riding out a storm in an Airstream that feels both humbling and grounding.

Saturday morning opened calmly, with CBS Saturday Morning, The New York Times, and a few lingering work tasks. A quick brunch turned into a well-earned nap, and by evening, we found our footing again.

Date Night returned, this time in full form. Cocktails flowed, the grill came alive with steak and vegetables, and the evening settled into the kind of campfire conversation that stretches late into the night. No agenda, no rush, just the quiet joy of being present.

Sunday began with our familiar rituals: watching Sunday Today and CBS Sunday Morning, reading The New York Times, and enjoying breakfast cocktails. But this Memorial Day weekend called for something more intentional.

Just 15 minutes from our campsite, we traveled to the new National Medal of Honor Museum in Arlington. It felt like the right way to center the weekend, to pause and reflect on the meaning behind the day.

We started with a heaping brisket sandwich on the patio before heading inside, where we watched several Medal of Honor recipient stories in the Neel Kearby Theater. Named for Colonel Neel E. Kearby, a Wichita Falls native, the theater honors a man whose courage exemplifies the spirit of the Medal.

On October 11, 1943, during World War II, Kearby led a four-plane reconnaissance mission over heavily defended Japanese positions near Wewak, New Guinea. After completing the mission and with fuel running low, he spotted a much larger formation of enemy aircraft. Despite being outnumbered roughly twelve to one, he chose to engage. In the fight that followed, he shot down six enemy planes, including several in rapid succession, and protected a fellow pilot under attack before safely leading his flight home.

Stories like his embody what the Medal of Honor represents. Established during the Civil War when President Abraham Lincoln signed legislation in 1861, the Medal remains the nation’s highest military decoration, awarded for acts of valor “above and beyond the call of duty.”

From the Kearby Theater, we moved to the elevated exhibit deck, immersing ourselves in the history and evolution of the Medal through artifacts, images, and interactive displays. The highlight of our visit was the Dustoff: Coming to the Rescue virtual reality mission. Cliff took the co-pilot seat while Jon served as medic, together bringing four wounded soldiers and one fallen civilian back to base.

The experience brought to life the legacy of Dustoff crews, whose helicopter evacuation missions during Vietnam dramatically improved survival rates by transporting the wounded to care within 60 minutes. Their courage, skill, and compassion left a lasting impact on both soldiers and civilians.

The takeaway was clear: The stories of Medal of Honor recipients endure because they represent the timeless virtues of courage, sacrifice, and love of others above self. Since the Medal’s creation, millions have served, yet only a few thousand have been recognized with this honor, underscoring just how extraordinary these acts truly are.

We returned to Cloud 9 that afternoon changed in subtle but meaningful ways.

Sunday evening brought another round of severe weather, waking us from a nap with heavy rain and, unexpectedly, a double rainbow stretching across the sky. It felt like a benediction.

Dinner was simple and tasty: grilled salmon, steamed cob corn, and purple beets. Later, we watched the National Memorial Day Concert, once again moved by stories of service and sacrifice.

To gently close the day, we turned to The Repair Shop, our new favorite. There’s something deeply comforting about watching skilled hands restore cherished heirlooms, reminding us that what is broken can often be made whole again.

Monday arrived too quickly, as it always does on holiday weekends. We clung to the final hours.

Jon lingered over The New York Times, while Cliff read the newly released papal encyclical Magnifica Humanitas. In it, Pope Leo XIV reflects on the rise of artificial intelligence, urging society to safeguard human dignity, resist the temptation to reduce people to data or utility, and ensure that technology serves the common good rather than undermines it.

Together, we explored Gamma, a new AI tool for creating presentations, which seemed fitting given the themes of the morning.

We closed the weekend with a classic cookout of smash burgers and French fries before packing up and heading home.

Memorial Day weekend at Loyd Park gave us a little of everything: Good food, meaningful work, generous rest, reflective conversation.

But more than anything, it reminded us why we pause this weekend each year. Not just for a break, but for remembrance. For gratitude. For the stories that shape who we are and the quiet responsibility we carry to live well in their honor.