In the moment

It’s difficult to recreate a moment if not downright impossible.

And yet our family seems determined — with each summer-vacation square in our datebooks — to try.

Of course, we have a name for what usually turns out to be our ham-fisted, annual attempt: we call it “tradition.” And no matter how narrow or crumbly the ground underneath our tradition becomes, we are determined to stand on it.

This year’s must-recreate-experience involved a long weekend in Acadia with two branches of our extended family and two canine “cousins.” Together the bipeds and quadrupeds would walk the woods, trek through town, see the world from nearly a thousand feet above the ocean, and dine anywhere that had outdoor seating and a sign welcoming dogs.

We’d had so much fun the year before ... you know when the idea was new and uncertain. And when the children thought walking around the circumference of a mirror-still pond seemed putrid and a luncheon of popovers utterly preposterous.

Dragging their feet and harumpfing every step of the three-mile distance.

Realizing at the bitter end that the trip was actually quite sweet.

Of course, setting the bar low is the key to success.

Without even knowing it, the experience turned from dreary to dreamy with the advantage of hindsight.

Turns out our basic cabins had “secret rooms,” and the grounds had a heated pool. After-dusk swimming parties became a nightly requirement.

Even a before-dawn rousting of our sleepy bears from their dens turned into a moment of wonder, as sunrise on the summit kept even the most reluctant hiker among us from complaining the moment the clouds parted and coughed up a glowing red orb for their amusement.

This year’s trip would only get better. We’d do all the same things, but with foreknowledge and planning. We’d make sure to soak up at least a third more enjoyment.

For one thing, we’d have better weather. This was something we didn’t realize would be the case until the temperature — oppressive for August in Maine — plastered our shirts to our bodies with perspiration.

Suddenly, it dawned on us that last year we’d shivered in a cold so unexpected that we’d found it necessary to venture out and buy the kind of tourist shop sweatshirts we’d have ordinarily avoided.

This year, with the streets crowded and parking practically non-existent, hopes of walking through the shops evaporated.

And soon the shards of more dashed expectations began to pile up.

Our teenage trail guide — who fought with varsity debate club skill to be able to set the family course — misread the map and plotted our trek in reverse. Nothing makes embarrassment more evident than a half-a-dozen hikers telling you you’re headed the wrong way on a one-way trail.

But, small failures along the way make room for redemption. And redemption can be as simple as the aforementioned gangly teenager running ahead to the teahouse to secure lunch reservations for a party of nine.

The popovers will be better than we remembered, and we wouldn’t have to battle wasps for the strawberry jam.

It’s not like you really get to pick the moments in your life that become memorable.

The moments pick you.