Times are busy. Putting in an offer on our first home, planning a summer marriage, starting a new career, and buying a new Harley seem to take precedence and replace time wearing Plaid in the Backwoods. No fear. You can't keep a good man down, and I would say, in relation, can't keep a country boy from the woods. Trips are planned; campsites are booked. A cold, windy, wet Spring leaves Mainers anxiously awaiting Summer. Namely, the sole reason we rented a small cabin recently rather than springing for a 2-man tent on a damp forest floor.
A quiet dirt road, far from anything you'd call "the edge of town", brought us to our weekend home. Upon arriving at camp, one matter of business always comes foremost - unloading pre-split camp wood next to the fire pit. Followed promptly afterward by the first campfire. My inner boy seems to escape about this time. While I chop kindling, collect twigs, arrange my "tee-pee" style tinder bundle and spark what will become an all-night fire - other duties escape me (such as helping to unload the remainder of our weekend belongings and essentials). At least that's my excuse - she doesn't read my blog.
Afternoons are spent enjoying a local waterfall seemingly placed here for our sole enjoyment. Rushing water has the tendency, for me, to erase all earthly stresses and cares. The early sounds of spring fall into unison as the birds join in song and the wind rustles amongst the branches. Responsibilities are merely a drive back home; all the more reason to stay.