A Campfire and a Tent

On Friday, Zach and I set up our new tent between a linden and a red pine in Minnesota. Ramona played on the old wool army blanket and tasted a variety of twigs, pine cones, and sandy soil. We strolled down to the lake and Ramona went swimming for the first time, splashing and wriggling in her daddy’s arms, crawling through the shallows and sorting out small, smooth pebbles.

In the evening, we lit a fire and Zach and I ate pudgy pies while Ramona slept. We watched the blue sky grow dark and the clouds roll in before a powerful night of storms. After a year and a half, at last we bedded down again under canvas, trees dripping and wind blowing around us, the smell of campfire wafting from our hair and clothes. There is nothing quite so wonderful, quite so cathartic, quite so simple, as a day and a night out in the open, under mother earth’s breath and beauty.

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