There was an adjacent section of the camp site that was tucked away through some bushes near the river. The fire weed growing there was a brilliant pink.
Mom and Dad play with the tackle box and Dad's 50 year old lures. There is no live bait fishing here.
While Mom gets the feel of the open face reel, I play in the water.
I was trying to get a shot of the hundreds of soft green pine cones sprouting at the very top of one of our biggest trees.
The chipmunks also came at their appointed time for dinner.
That evening was Pap fried and hamburgers, which necessitated the firing off all SIX burners.
Pap fries are old school -- buckets of Crisco and salt frying up peeled and thinly sliced potatoes by the ton.
After dinner around the fire, I get Sammi to show off her finely dirtied feet from playing around camp all day in flip flops.
I think I may have won Bob over on the camping thing. For years, his resistance was worn down with the promise that it would not be like the Army camping he remembered. Now the conversations around the fire are about what other gear we need to procure for the next trip.
We made if family bandana night around the fire. My excuse is my head was starting to feel itchy. I don't think Bob can say the same. ;)
Soup's on!
The best thing about the camp fire is how mesmerizing it becomes. You sit and stare and night falls all around you. The popping of the wood and the light of the flames are better than anything in the world at that moment.
And then you look up.
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