i wasn't ready to come home, but i really needed to wash my hair

My hair smells like the smoke of a campfire, which is probably one of my favorite things ever. I have a lot of favorites, I know. But when everything is just so awesome it's hard to discriminate. I just want to love everything, so that's what I do. 

I love the smell of campfire smoke, especially. So much so that I purposefully subject myself to the billowing smoke from the pit of burning wood just so my sweatshirts will take on that distinct aroma. I can't decide if this is hazardous to my health or not.

There's just something about camping that makes me feel at home. Maybe it's because I have been camping since I was a just a few months old. Maybe it's because I'm happiest when I'm outside. Maybe it's because I get to be surrounded by people I love with minimal distractions from a tainted society. There is no cell service. There are no television productions. There is no internet. There is just us, trees, and fish.

The smell of the fresh mountain air in the morning melding with the morning coffee percolating on the stove top is something that everyone should experience at least once in their lives. The feeling of a rainbow trout tugging on the end of your fishing line is exciting enough to last for a week. The thrill of the catch is unreal.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Cast the line.

I have perfected the art of roasting marshmallows. The secret is in waiting for the fire to die down enough so the hot coals are exposed. The placement of the mallow is imperative to either success or failure. Too far away and you'll be waiting for hours, too close and you'll have a blackened outside and cold center. But if you hover in just the right place and rotate when necessary your mallow will reach a golden state of deliciousness that is hard to beat.

Graham up. Chocolate out. Sticky fingers for life.

The eagles that have made their nest by the lake are not only beautiful creatures, but they are also not very shy. On Friday I stood on the shore and watched in wonder as this gigantic bald eagle swooped down out of the sky and caught a fish maybe twenty feet from my point of view, give or take. Then he flew up to a branch and ate his dinner in style.

In the evening yesterday we stared at him from across the lake. He was sitting on the branch of a snag high in the sky watching over the small body of water. Every so often he would move his head or turn his body. It was hard to take my eyes off of his silhouette. The beauty of nature amazes me.

And so it goes to show that camping is in my blood. I was born to travel. To spend time outside. It's where I belong and where I feel most at home. I wasn't ready for the weekend to be over, but I was glad for the hot shower. It was a weekend well spent.