most summers find us camping, sometimes with friends, sometimes just our crew of six (soon to be seven! yee!). usually camping means a trusty tent and some trees and a hammock and a tricksy campfire and fifty-six spiders.
this weekend, however, we upgraded.
friends of ours have relatives with a passel of woods, in which they plunked down several cabins and picnic benches, a sandbox and swings and a fishing pond. our cabin was spacious and furnished and stocked with books, old fashioned games, and cozy stacks of blankets and quilts. what it lacked in electricity it made up for in a propane fridge and stove and lamps.
i felt like a traitor to the camping world. an enthusiastic, delighted traitor.
so we 'camped.' and we fished. and played cards and swatted buzzing things and roasted cookie s'mores. and as if all that goodness wasn't sweet enough, we got to meet up with the renowned flower patch farm girl and her CMB. we brushed shoulders in college, but became friends much later, once i read her blog and realized that this girl? knocks my stripey socks off.
[her little gal was ill, and her youngest tucked at home in bed, both in the care of grandma, but i did get to meet mr calvin, who is a fish-whisperer. he casts his line and the trout and catfish queue up to swallow his hook. it's uncanny.]
our time together was short but lovely. a microcosm of the weekend, really.
so today, i'm unwrapping the gift of simple, happy weekends, of a campfire circled by people so dear to me.