Art of Camping

In conclusion to one of my last posts... This weekend's destination was located off the beaten path and hours from the nearest hospital, let alone grocery store. Three hours of back road travel and we turn left onto an old gravel road. Narrow and full of basketball-sized potholes, it meanders through the woods 15 miles. Travelling up over hills and down the accompanying embankments, we keep our eyes peeled for a roadside marker signifying we've arrived at campsite #11.  Spotting the sign, we pull into our site, which is even more secluded than we'd hoped for.

Preparing camp is always enjoyable. As if moving into a new home, the first mission is to scout the lay of the land and arrange your essentials in a convenient location. Eleven PM brings with it a chill to the air for which a t-shirt does not suffice. I throw on my Carhartt jacket before tossing one more log into the fire. Flames jump about the log, casting shadows into the spruce branches that hang safely above. A warm glow encompasses the tent. We sit, with a poker stick in hand, stabbing at the coals, telling tales from the most recent books we've read - most of which, for me, are written in Maine - so they're related to our surroundings.

We spend the weekend exploring the lay of the land. Several hiking trails are within driving distance. As much time is spent on foot as possible. Strawberry season has arrived early due to the warm temperatures over the last two weeks. Wild strawberries are abundant in this area along the paths. The sweetness makes all the walking well-worth the investment.

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