The Ultimate Retro Family Vacation

Not a kid on a screen in sight...

We just got back from what has become one of my favorite family vacations. My husband, on the other hand, spent one night alone in a hotel nearby…

Let me explain.

Last year, we discovered Jellystone campground, about two hours away in Pennsylvania’s Amish country. It’s part nostalgic throwback, part kid paradise. There’s a sprawling playground, giant jumping pillows (basically trampolines embedded in the ground), a real-deal water park, gem mining, arts and crafts, and of course—the infamous “hey hey ride.”

Let me clarify: this is not a hay ride. There is no hay. There is a tractor, and there is shouting. The kids pile onto the back of it and ride through the campground yelling “HEY HEY!” at anyone within earshot. It’s delightfully ridiculous. My editor husband, however, was aghast at the false advertising. The lack of actual hay drove him nuts. The kids found it hilarious. He looked like he wanted to dive off the back of the wagon and disappear into the woods.

One of the things I love most about Jellystone is the total lack of pretense. There’s no curated family image or pressure to perform. Parents appear at 7am in mismatched pajamas, half-awake, clutching coffee while our kids bounce around barefoot on the trampoline pillows. You run into the same families at the water park, the hey hey ride, the arts and crafts cabin—it’s small enough to feel cozy, large enough to keep the kids constantly entertained. This year, we even made friends with an Israeli family who homeschools their kids while traveling across the U.S. in an RV.

The campground is dog-friendly too, which meant our dog got to come along—and let me tell you, he had opinions. Namely, that anything with wheels is suspicious and deserves to be barked at with full commitment. He offered his thoughts on every passing golf cart, scooter, and bike, like the unofficial neighborhood watch of Jellystone.

But what keeps me coming back is the retro magic of it all. I have never once seen a child on a screen there. The WiFi barely works, which wasn’t ideal for my husband’s remote job (hence the solo hotel night to get work done). But for the kids? Bliss. They roam in little barefoot packs from morning till night, making fast friends and swapping snacks. They drift in and out of cabins and tents like a scene from a different era—one without apps, notifications, or helicopter parenting.

It reminds me of my own childhood summers. Back when we’d disappear for hours on end, wandering the neighborhood until someone’s mom yelled it was time to come home. Remember those commercials? “It’s 10 p.m. Do you know where your children are?” Jellystone captures that feeling: the freedom, the community, the quiet trust in the world. Our kids already get a taste of this on Shabbat and holidays—when screens are off, cars are parked, and play becomes organic again. But at Jellystone, it stretches across days. And you can see it in their faces: they feel safe, wild, and totally alive.

So no, it’s not a luxury resort. It’s sticky, noisy, and packed with families roughing it together. But that’s exactly why I love it. Jellystone isn’t about curated perfection—it’s about joyful chaos, muddy feet, “hey hey” rides, and campfire bedtime stories. It’s where kids can just be kids, and where parents—if we let ourselves—can remember what that felt like too.

This post is not in any way sponsored or paid for by Jellystone, which is apparently a chain and has locations nationwide. Which we almost found out the hard way last year, when my husband (who drove separately because we had so much stuff with us - you have to bring your own pillows, blankets, towels, etc, in addition to all the Kosher food we had) put the wrong location into his GPS and we found out as he was about to pull away.

But if Jellystone wants to sponsor our podcast or comp our next trip, I’m totally game, because unfortunately, it isn’t cheap.