Five weeks is a long time to be away from something that has become part of our rhythm of life.

After more than a month without a camping trip, we finally hitched up the Airstream Friday morning and headed for camp, eager to reclaim a routine that had been interrupted by a seemingly simple project: replacing our air-conditioner.

As it turned out, when it comes to RVs, there is no such thing as a simple project.

What began with the purchase of a new air-conditioner from McClain’s RV SuperStore in Fort Worth led us down a winding path of a faulty installation by a one-man mobile repair operation, additional attempts at fixing the problem, and finally, the intervention of McClain’s service technicians, who not only addressed the air-conditioning problems but also installed a new breaker box.

When we picked up the Airstream Friday morning, we were assured everything was finally right.

Then we arrived at camp.

The new unit certainly knew how to do its primary job. In temperatures pushing 100 degrees, it kept the trailer cool and comfortable. Unfortunately, it also came with an unwelcome soundtrack of rattles, fluttering noises, and vibrations that made it clear something still wasn’t quite right.

By Friday evening, we had already made arrangements to return to McClain’s on Sunday afternoon, where the newly “fixed” unit would ultimately be replaced with an entirely new air-conditioner.

So we spent the weekend doing what campers do best: making the best of it.

The Airstream rattled. We rattled with it.

And we camped anyway.

Friday afternoon gave us a chance to wrap up a few lingering work projects before easing into the weekend. Date Night featured a perfectly cooked strip steak, steak fries, and grilled asparagus. After dinner, we settled in with the first two episodes of JFK, the PBS American Experience documentary series, and enjoyed the simple luxury of being back in our home away from home.

Saturday felt wonderfully familiar.

We lingered over CBS Saturday Morning, read through The New York Times, enjoyed brunch, and surrendered to an afternoon nap. The heat outside was relentless, making the prospect of standing over a grill considerably less appealing than usual. Chef Cliff adapted, as he always does, preparing pan-seared pork chops with steamed broccolini and borracho beans.

It was comfort food for a weekend that needed a little comfort.

That evening, we finished the final two episodes of the documentary and turned in, grateful for air-conditioning that worked, even if it sounded like it was conducting its own percussion section overhead.

On Sunday, Jon awoke to the news of the unexpected death of Lindsey Graham, the Republican senator from South Carolina and an outspoken defender of President Trump. Taking Ginger on a pre-dawn walk under a waning crescent moon, he was able to reflect on Graham’s life and legacy.

There’s an old saying that we shouldn’t speak ill of the dead. We’ve never believed death grants absolution. It doesn’t erase a lifetime of choices or excuse betrayal. If we honor those who elevate public life, we owe history equal honesty about those who diminish it. Death deserves dignity. Legacies deserve scrutiny.

Like many Americans, we can acknowledge his sudden passing with a measure of solemnity. But we cannot separate that moment from the long arc of decisions that defined his public life. His political story did not end with his death. In many ways, it ended years ago.

We remember a different Lindsey Graham. The senator who stood beside John McCain spoke about honor, alliances, and constitutional duty. Politically, we disagreed with him, but we never doubted his sincerity, which is why his transformation was so jarring.

In 2016, Graham saw Donald Trump with remarkable clarity. He called him “crazy,” “a jackass,” and a “race-baiting, xenophobic religious bigot.” He warned that nominating Trump would destroy the Republican Party. There was no ambiguity in his judgment, no confusion about the stakes.

And then, almost as quickly, there was reversal.

Within a year, the man he had urged Americans to reject became someone he defended, praised, and ultimately aligned himself with. What followed was not a momentary compromise but a sustained surrender. The distance between Graham’s earlier warnings and his later loyalty wasn’t political posturing, it was a kind of moral erosion. Conviction gave way to proximity to power, and proximity became the organizing principle of his public life.

At times, the contradiction bordered on the surreal. When Trump attacked the memory of John McCain, Graham’s response was not moral outrage but casual detachment—discomfort outweighed by the convenience of maintaining the relationship. Even after January 6, when he briefly declared “enough is enough,” the break proved temporary. The line he drew dissolved as soon as it became politically inconvenient.

This is the core of the tragedy. Not simply that Lindsey Graham changed, but that he appeared to understand exactly what he was changing into. This was not ignorance. He knew the difference between right and wrong because he had articulated it, forcefully and repeatedly. And then he chose otherwise.

Some will point to his hawkish stance on Russia as evidence of principle. He spoke harshly about Vladimir Putin, called him a war criminal, and championed accountability on the global stage. But even here, the pattern holds. When confronted with moments that demanded consistency, when democratic norms were strained not abroad but at home, his clarity faltered. Principles that seemed firm in one context proved negotiable in another.

That inconsistency is what defines his legacy. Democracy rarely erodes because of a single figure. It weakens when people who recognize the danger decide that preserving their own position matters more than defending the institutions they swore to uphold. Trump did not act alone. He relied on those willing to accommodate him, legitimize him, and protect him. Lindsey Graham became one of the most consequential among them.

Ultimately, Graham’s betrayal was not of his party but of public trust. Every oath of office carries an implicit promise that the Constitution comes before any individual. Lindsey Graham had ample opportunities to honor that promise. Again and again, he chose proximity to power instead.

We do not celebrate his death. But we cannot ignore the choices that defined his life in public service. History will remember him less for any legislation he championed than for the path he chose to walk. Future generations will look back on this era and ask how so many who knew better failed to act. His name will be part of that answer, not because he lacked influence, but because he had it and chose to use it in service of power rather than principle.

As we prepared to head back to McClain’s on Sunday afternoon, we found ourselves reflecting on how much we had missed our camping weekends. Five weeks without camping had created a small but noticeable absence. There is something restorative about slowing down, sharing meals, catching up on news and commentary, taking a nap, watching a documentary, or simply walking together while the world carries on.

Camping has never been about elaborate adventures for us. More often than not, it is about returning to the familiar.

It is about being fully present to one another…about being in a place where life shifts into a lower gear.

The weekend may not have been ideal, but we were camping again. And if there’s one lesson we’ve learned over the years, it’s that camping, like life, rarely goes exactly according to plan.

The important thing is showing up anyway and persevering, even it it gets a little noisy.