I still don’t get it. I’ve been married to a Stanford grad for over 15 years now and I still don’t get the name of the Stanford team. Cardinal? Is it ever plural? And the what’s with the tree? These questions remain as unanswered today as they were when I first posed them years ago, yet, as with many such existential queries, the older I get the more at peace I have become with not knowing. Actually, let’s go back a few years to a less complicated time, shall we? Eleven years (to be exact), when Stanford and Navy had their last encounter on the football field.

We had flown down to the Bay Area from where we were living in Washington State to see the inaugural game in the new stadium.   Flight had dressed Keeper in Stanford gear and was similarly garbed. Flight’s parents joined us for the evolution, also wearing cardinal (see, it’s a color, that I get…), and I was proudly wearing my N-star letter sweater. It was a beautiful day (Flight had commented then (and now – see below) on how glorious the weather always seemed to be on football game days regardless of any monsoons in the days leading up to them). I looked around and saw that I was sitting amidst a sea of red, the hue of cardinal to be exact. Long story short, Stanford never showed up. Navy ran away with the game and the Midshipmen easily won 37-9. For Christmas that year, I framed the below pictures of Keeper for Flight to remind him of that glorious game.

Flash forward more than a decade, we are back at the Stadium, this time sporting three children, all of whom are now outfitted in Stanford gear. As am I since they are playing Arizona State, the only allegiance to which I may have is from watching Raising Arizona.

After enjoying some great eats and an excellent Stanford mini-reunion as we tailgated in style (see Flight’s post below), we meandered into the game just as the National Anthem sounded. We made our way high up behind the end zone where we cooked in the sun for the first three quarters.

Flight was generous in his summary of the kids’ perseverance in our collective incalescent state. WoodSprite, the fairest of our three, was huddled under my Navy fleece to keep the sun at bay and was sweltering in the added warmth. Flight made the first run to Davista to get some necessary (and forgotten) sunscreen. Flight and Firebolt then made the second run to get a lighter source of shade for WoodSprite and my bright red shell (really more crimson than cardinal) fit the bill nicely.

Early in the second quarter, our monkeys cried uncle and retreated beneath the redwoods guarding the area at the top of the stands. Flight and I alternated extracting ourselves from conversations to go check on our wayward three. At one point I came upon them, impressed by how kindly and respectfully they were sharing the frozen lemonade Firebolt had purchased after Flight had given her the funds to do so.

At half time, Flight’s parents absconded to the cool shadow of the home team’s side. After exchanging a few texts that assured us there were plenty of open seats nearby, we bid our friends adieu and made our way to join them. Aside from the dirty looks from the octogenarian seated in front of us (our girls were occasionally free in flailing their legs, kicking the row of seats ahead of us – one of my own pet peeves about which I most certainly spoke with them), we enjoyed the final quarter in the refreshing shade.

Stanford’s victory in hand, we retreated to Davista to enjoy some gourmet burgers with Flight’s folks before rounding up our crew for a leisurely nighttime tour of the Farm. Classes were recently back in session, which became most obvious when one of the areas we came upon we found littered with loose rows of folding tables, each one labeled with a particular student interest group or extracurricular activity, and chalk instructions for how to try out or join any number of performance groups dotting the extensive patio beneath. Although it looked a little eerie by starlight (especially without any college students present), I felt my annual autumnal draw to go back to school (more on that in a future musing…). Flight and I observed that there seemed to be far more of these options than when we were in college (or perhaps we were equally oblivious to the opportunities on our respective campuses?).

Part of our tour took us through the Quad, which is comprised of the original structures defining the university.

Although class year loyalty isn’t nearly the big deal it is at the Naval Academy, the Stanford graduating classes have each buried a time capsule in the Quad filled with items reflecting their college years.

When we first came upon the ’90 square, Flight let us know that particular one predated his undergraduate tenure by a century. !!!

I have since learned the custom started in 1896 and the earlier classes buried their defining items retroactively. I don’t know when (or even if) they’ll be unearthing the subterranean museum documenting 125+ years of Stanford student life, but I think it’s a pretty cool tradition.

We returned to Davista basking in the joy of revisiting Flight’s old stomping grounds and made ready for his early departure for work the following morning. After much discussion about how to best skin that particular cat, we decided to do another dawn patrol back to his folks’ driveway.

My voice may have been the loudest in said discussion as I had zero interest in my threading Davista through trimmed limbs, both those surrounding our tailgate spot and the ones narrowing the entrance to Flight’s parents’ house. As per norm, Flight managed it far better than I might have and, after a quick turn, he was out the door and dashing back to the airport for his next trip. I was back to fending for our family solo (no great hardship while still parked in my in-laws’ driveway) until his return two days hence.

There’s much to contemplate in the meantime… What to see locally in Flight’s absence, a date night to plan, lessons syllabi to enact (after finalizing them), sorting out where to eventually live and how to get there, fleshing out more specific plans for the likely event that our house in Maryland doesn’t sell (um, go back, yes, but how exactly and for how long?), figuring out how to felt a hat, and finishing a jigsaw puzzle just to name a few… Most importantly, I wanted to carve out some special time with the girls. Overwhelmed by needing to tend to these immense planning evolutions, each requiring my undivided attention, I resolved to do something spontaneous with Firebolt and WoodSprite for some much needed girl-bonding time just as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

Just wait until you see how well that manifested…

When I was in college, I had a vague notion that there was a tailgate “thing” happening there on football game days… that it went further than people setting up portable grills behind their cars in the parking lot.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to try to initiate a battle royale of college tailgate scenes — I’ve never been to an SEC home game, and I’m pretty certain that the huge Midwest State schools throw massive benders on Fall Saturdays.  Just saying there was much more happening on the tailgating front than I knew at the time.  I previously mentioned that the Stanford campus is enormous, and there are multiple “groves” (read: areas with nothing but widely spaced trees) surrounding the stadium and extending to the north and west for dozens of acres.  It (the whole campus) is nicknamed “The Farm” for a few reasons, but all the open space is a reminder of its origins.  Every home game Saturday we’d make the trek out to the stadium and find the groves full of not just parked cars, but elaborate tailgating setups, with major food and drink production / consumption, generators feeding DJ stands, games, etc.

It didn’t leave much of an impression on me because I was 18 and had a very small sphere of that-which-I-paid-attention-to.  What I discovered since, though, is that people plan these tailgaters for months.  And that not only are the groves used for game day parking, but certain areas will let RVs come in, set up, and camp.  AND… camp not just for game day, but for two days prior and one day after.  Of course you need to be a season ticket holder to qualify for that privilege, but secondary markets being what they are in the internet commerce age, those tickets aren’t difficult to come by.  So what a perfect idea for a family who’s living in an RV anyway and needs to park it – hang out at the alma mater, tailgate with friends who do this regularly and promised to save us a spot, and catch a game.  Score!

The plan morphed a bit when we started looking at the no-kidding logistics of boondocking (that’s camping in your RV without water, electric, or sewage hookups – another term I learned relatively recently) on a semi-remote corner of a college campus rather than hanging out at my parents’ house where we had just about everything we needed.  Plus there was the matter of my work trip, which cut into what would’ve been day 1 of campus camping regardless.  As much as I would love to see my kids, over the course of a weekend of campus tours, class auditing, and interaction with students, become enamored of Stanford and resolve on the spot to do whatever it takes academically and extracurricular-ly to ensure eventual admission…  Sorry, I couldn’t finish — that just got sillier and sillier.

So instead, we opted to mobilize before dawn on Saturday, drive down to Palo Alto, set up Davista, catch a few hours of sleep, then do the game day thing, followed by cooking out and spending the night.  This turned out to be an excellent compromise.

Another thing that sticks in my memory of college days is that football Saturdays always always seemed to be hot and sunny, no matter what the rest of the week had offered up, weather-wise.  Saturday, September 30th was no exception.

My good college friend and old housemate had set up the main tailgate event on his mother’s regular RV spot, which we parked a few spots down from.  He had invited several other friends from our old “draw group,” which is (or was?) the Stanford term for the group of people you choose to enter the housing lottery with so that you end up in the same campus housing unit each year.  Basically roommates / housemates.  They’ve all gone on to success in widely varying fields, and every opportunity I get to see them (which are exceedingly rare), I thoroughly enjoy it.

Adding to the fun factor was having my parents there too.  They hadn’t seen some of my college friends since graduation, and my dad made the laughing observation to one of them that he could recognize all of them, but that we were all “a little more grey and puffy.”  That went over way better than it sounds like it would’ve, and is actually reasonably accurate, though most of them have managed to stay in far better shape than I.

 

We beat the Sun Devils handily, and the kids gamely sported the school garb and braved the direct sun for about 3 quarters, which was longer than I’d expected.

 

Even better, I managed to drag the kids (with Tacco’s help) post food/sun/game out for an evening walk around campus, just so see what was going on.  As it turned out nothing at all was going on, at least not in the main areas – I’m sure the dorms and fraternities were another matter – but it was a few miles on a warm night and a chance to show the kids a glimpse of what college life looks like, minus the keg-stands.

Firebolt still insists she intends to play soccer for Stanford, so mission accomplished I suppose, though if that’s the case we really ought to get around to having her play some soccer.

 

Tomorrow I leave for another trip, and the busy-meter swings back into the yellow-orange-red zone as we have several events and visits planned, as well as multiple campsite reservations down the coast.  But the slow-down time has served its purpose.