Branson, the Long Way — The Fosters

The premise was simple: the boys got into a music camp in Branson, Missouri, and Branson is not close to Washington. You can treat that as a logistics problem or as an excuse. We treated it as an excuse.

So in mid-June we pointed the car east with a week of camp in the middle of the itinerary and absolutely no restraint on either side of it.

The national parks leg

Day two was Yellowstone, which never stops being ridiculous no matter how many times you've seen pictures of it. We walked the boardwalks at Grand Prismatic with a few hundred of our closest friends, and the boys learned that "don't touch the water" is a rule with extremely good reasons behind it.

Selfie on the Grand Prismatic boardwalk, steam rising behind — boardwalk selfie, steam included

The orange and turquoise bands of Grand Prismatic Spring under a blue sky — grand prismatic, showing off

A small, impossibly blue hot spring pool rimmed in orange mineral crust — one of about a thousand impossibly blue pots

All four Fosters in front of the turquoise Black Pool at West Thumb — west thumb — all four of us, one open eye at a time

Fishing Cone, a geyser cone sitting out in the clear water of Yellowstone Lake with mountains beyond — fishing cone — a geyser that lives in the lake

That evening we rolled into my friend Neal's place in Powell, Wyoming, and got the kind of welcome that makes you wonder why you let so many years go between visits. Good food, better conversation, and a tractor the boys were very interested in.

Jeremy and his friend Neal grinning in a farmyard selfie in Powell, Wyoming, tractor in the background — neal — powell, wyoming. too many years, same laughs.

Day three was the South Dakota double feature. Mount Rushmore in the morning, which is exactly as advertised, and then Badlands National Park in the afternoon, which is somehow still underrated. The boys summited every climbable formation within a quarter mile of the trail, and we have the photos to prove it to their future insurance adjusters.

The four presidents' faces of Mount Rushmore against a cloudy sky — the gentlemen themselves

Family selfie in front of Mount Rushmore — obligatory. no regrets.

Layered Badlands formations with green prairie stretching to the horizon — the badlands, somehow still underrated

One of the boys perched high on a Badlands rock spire against the sky — the badlands, being climbed

A wide Badlands vista with one boy standing small on the rim under a huge sky — somewhere in that landscape is a foster

Camp week

Then Branson, and the actual point of the trip: the boys disappeared into music camp for the week. Instruments in the morning, ensembles in the afternoon, new friends by dinner. We got the daily reports in the car each evening and watched two kids get noticeably better at their craft in real time.

Meanwhile, Suzanne and I discovered what Branson has to offer two parents with a free week: the fountains at the Landing, a marina, and an entire economy of old-fashioned candy stores. I was offered "Memory Mints for senior moments" by a display rack and I choose not to read into it.

Jeremy and Suzanne at the Branson Landing fountains — parents, unsupervised, branson landing

The final concerts

Camp ended the way it should: on a stage. Both boys played in their ensembles' final concerts, and I'll let the recordings speak for themselves. I've watched these more times than I'm going to admit in writing.

The long road home

We gave Branson one last day before leaving — Silver Dollar City, where the coasters are good, the barbecue is serious, and a turkey leg is roughly the size of a banjo.

A roller coaster train mid-inversion above the green Ozark hills at Silver Dollar City — the ozarks, briefly upside down

A boy in the Banjo Camp hat contemplating an enormous smoked turkey leg at Silver Dollar City — silver dollar city. the turkey leg did not survive.

And then the drive home, which is its own kind of good: everybody a little tired, the car full of camp stories and gas-station snacks, the State Tally map noticeably redder than when we left. The boys are up to 27 states apiece now, which means they've out-traveled most adults I know before either of them can drive.

Same trip next year? No promises. But the hat stays.