I grew up camping, and both my parents grew up camping. So it only seemed natural that when I moved out I would set out on my own and scratch the itch to travel and camp. I’d always liked the idea of visiting all 22 (now 17) state parks in Alabama. How many people can say that?

When talk of the loss of state park funding came up a few months ago, I didn’t want to believe any state parks would actually close. Unfortunately about two weeks ago, an announcement was made that five parks were to close Oct. 15 and several would have staff cutbacks and amenities taken away or reduced.

When the announcement was made Sept. 30, I made the decision to travel to the five parks before they closed, however, my hands were tied until my sister got married Oct. 9.

So Monday, Oct. 12, I packed myself, two bags, a tent, chair, cooler and my dog, Ellie, in the back of my Jeep, and we set off to travel along the Black Belt of Alabama to visit these soon-to-be missing pieces of Alabama history.

We drove about an hour before the sun came up and I already had no idea where I was.

Although I knew my destination, the directions took me askew from the typical “Mobile” trail I was used to. I drove through St. Stephens and attempted to memorize the communities, towns and cities I was driving through when the area became unfamiliar. That ended after I came through Axis. My first stop was Bladon Springs State Park in Bladon Springs (10 miles east of Silas). This park wasn’t something you “happened upon.” It was in the middle of nowhere. And I know that because I drove 30 minutes without passing another car, mailbox or telephone pole. Signs were only visible about two miles outside of the park.

I pulled into the park, paid my $1 day admission at the honor box and continued down a gravel drive. To be honest, I thought I was in the wrong place, although the sign proved otherwise. There was no ranger, campers or visitors. Granted, it was early and a Monday, but it was also Columbus Day. Ten camping spots and all were empty. I walked down a hill to the pavilions and a large concrete hole. There were four of these concrete holes, and each were home to four pumps that covered mineral springs from the 1830s spa Bladon Springs once was. In 1846, a hotel was built on the property and in time, a small hotel developed around the hotel and spa. At the turn of the century, the area fell on hard times and never recovered. Today, the octagonal spring pavilion over the main spring is the only original structure standing. The pumps still work and I grabbed a bottle of the well water with “curative” properties.

It was a little disheartening visiting the first park, but I couldn’t help but think of the potential of this area. Sure, it’s a little far out of the way, but with a little money (obviously from a private donor) this park could be a living history tour of the spa and hotel that once was here.

Next stop, Chickasaw State Park in Gallion (about four miles north of Linden). The drive to Chickasaw State Park was like the end of my trip to Bladon Springs — no signs, or signs of people except a few cars — until I came into Linden (which reminded me of Atmore). With the exception of a three modern campsites, Chickasaw is a day park. There are six trails (although I was only able to find two entrances), and the park is across the highway from the State of Alabama Marengo Physically Disabled Hunting Area. In addition to pavilions to rent, there was once a children’s wading pool that was filled in (by my judgement, a few months ago). There was no honor box or park officials, so I couldn’t tell where or if there was a pay box. It was home to a fifth-wheel travel trailer and a great place to take a break and have lunch.

Traveling to Paul M. Grist State Park in Selma was a relief. I knew after pitching a tent and a short walk with Ellie, I could stay out of the driver’s seat for a while. Grist State Park was different from the first two parks in many aspects. Signs were in Selma showing you where to go to get to the park — neither of the first two parks had this. Pulling into the park, the trees were decorated with wooden signs, smiley faces and Frankensteins for Halloween, nailed to the trees. Animals were carved out of wood and greeted you as you spiraled your way through the forest of trees to the ranger station. There was an honor box here as well (are we noticing a trend here?). I pulled around to the park store and found the first human in any of the state parks. His name was Michael Hicks. He mentioned “things around here have been a rat race” two or three times during our conversation. Although checkout time the next day was 11 a.m., “he wasn’t going to run me off.”

Kayakers, small boaters and horseback riders were a common sight on Monday afternoon. The weather was perfect for an evening outside. After kayaking, several families picnicked together that night before packing up to leave.

Ellie and I set up the tent and walked around the park to see who else was staying there. A few campers and travel trailers were set up, and looked like they’d been there for some time, but I was the only primitive camper that night.

At about 2:30 a.m. something woke me up and I noticed there was lightning close by with thunder rumbling. It was sprinkling, so I started counting “Mississippis” and when the storm was less than five miles away, I packed up my tent, bags and Ellie, and we flew to the car. We drove to the bathhouse and waited to see what the storm would do to plan what to do next. By this time, about 4 a.m., I decided it was time to move on to the next park. Although it was early, the rain wasn’t letting up and it only made sense to forge on. It stormed for the next two-and-a-half hours and when I arrived to Roland Cooper State Park, I could hardly see the entrance to it. This is where my trip was cut short. I drove around a bit to see what I could through the sheets of rain, but it was no use. I headed to the Florida-Alabama state line in Covington County.

I noticed on my MapQuest directions, I was supposed to get on Interstate 65. The heavenly chorus sang. I was looking forward to cars — and lots of them — and familiar territory. But that didn’t last but several miles. It was back to the backroads before long.

Florala was a day park that lined Lake Jackson and at the end of the park was the camping area. Visitors are invited to swim, boat and fish in Lake Jackson or walk along the paved trails in the park. For a different view, walk the Florala Wetlands Park on Lake Jackson at the entrance of the park. Florala also has a conference center for public use. It’s impossible to take a bad photo of the moss hanging form the trees and flowering weeds taking over the wooden bridges.

Florala State Park is across the street from Historic Florala. As soon as I left, I called my parents to let them know I was heading home after a stop for information at the Alabama rest area. I knew if any city bought any of the five state parks, Florala had to buy Florala State Park. It was literally the park of the city. (On Oct. 16, the park was officially turned over to the city of Florala. It’ll still be a park open to visitors, just not considered a state park.)

So what happened? Whose fault is it? Am I just spoiled because the only Alabama State Park I’ve stayed at several times is the Gulf State Park? As humans, are we so consumed with technology that we can’t put down our phones, sit around enjoy scenery and do “nothing”?

All these thoughts were running through my head as I was driving hours between the parks and walking Ellie on some of the trails. This trip was full of mixed feelings. I hated to think it, but I feel like I knew why some of the parks were closing, and I didn’t understand why others weren’t staying open.

To some, it may seem silly to worry about something like a state park. But when parks like these are part of your childhood, it’s hard not to care.

I traveled through 12 Alabama and four Florida counties, visited five state parks that are no longer, learned to camp with a dog in a tent in the rain and finally, not to wait too long to visit those places on my bucket list. This was a reality check those places won’t be there forever.

Note: I’ve “liked” Save Paul Grist State Park and Save Roland Cooper State Park on Facebook to stay updated with the park news. So far, Dallas County commissioners are beginning the stages of saving Grist State Park. Documents have been drawn up and it is estimated the park will be closed about a month or so before it can be reopened again. No word on Bladon Springs State Park or Chickasaw State Park.