Molly and I sit shoulder-to-shoulder and make small talk with the other travelers. There’s a young family from Cottage Grove, who just sold their house and are moving to Cleveland. A not-so-young family is there, too. The parents are about my age, but the kids are little, with Asian features, so I assume they’re adopted. A retired couple, who seem self-contained and not as eager to mingle, tell us they’re on a monthlong driving tour of the midwest. Molly, of course, gravitates toward two boys who seem to be about her age. They’re juniors at Penn State, so leaving home is routine to them, and they’re driving themselves.

She seems to have forgotten about dessert, but the younger kids eagerly gather around when I ask them if they want to help. I demonstrate how to put a little whipping cream and sugar into a small Ziploc bag. The sealed bag then goes into a larger plastic bag of ice and salt. This is the kids’ favorite part—you shake until the cream and sugar in the sealed bag turns to ice cream.

“What a great trick,” the young mother says to me, watching her little ones shiver and shake.

“I learned it from my mother.” I look across at Molly, who is now explaining the process to the college boys, who are totally into it. Before long, everyone around the campfire is making ice cream in a bag, the kids turning it into a wild dance. Sparks land on someone’s blanket, and a tiny flame ignites. Fortunately, it is spotted and beaten out. People tuck their loose blankets away from the fire, and we’re more vigilant after that.

Everyone pronounces the ice cream delicious. In fact, it’s a bit bland, but flavored by the fun we had making it. One of the college boys plays a harmonica. Then, possessed by the silliness of knowing we’ll never see these people again, Molly and I sing “You Are My Sunshine” in perfect harmony, and our listeners are polite enough to clap. We stay by the fire way too late, until I feel the stiffness of the long day and the cold night at my back.

“I’m heading to bed,” I tell Molly. I worry that she might want to linger here with the college boys. Her eyes glow when she talks to them. I battle the urge to remind her that these guys are strangers and we’re in a strange place. Pretty soon, I won’t be around to protect her at all, so I’d best get used to the churning nervousness in my gut.

She surprises me by getting up and helping collect the trash and leftovers. “I’m going to turn in, too. If we get an early start, we can make up for the time we lost today.”

We didn’t lose any time. I know exactly how and where we spent it, and I wouldn’t change a thing.

As we walk together to our cabin, Molly says, “Those kids loved making the ice cream.”