When I was a youth, I seems we went camping at least once per month. Dad had a heavy canvas wall tent. It was my job to run the ridge pole and far support pole into the tent so that the tent could be raised. I still remember the smell of the canvas. (I miss it) As soon as we set up the tent the next thing was to start a fire. My dad is a cajun so you can imagine the stories that come from memories of this part of every trip. Mom would get the coffee going first thing. We would unload the rest of the vehicle and then relax. It would always be dark because we would have left right after dad got home from work. Sitting there watching the fire, drinking coffee milk and smelling the sage brush, it felt like heaven. Dad would tell stories from the past that all of us knew were made up, and mom would always make us laugh with her whitty humor.

I have tried to recreate those moment on my own trips, but I dont think you really ever can. Now there are new memories, like my then 5 year old son sitting on a cactus when he dropped his drawers to use the rest room. Or when I got my pastor out of his bunk to eat breakfast. He sat it down right in front of my dog who imediately gulped it down while thhis back was turned.

I have learned that every trip is its own live breathing story just waiting to be told and shared. I look forward to sharing mine and reading all of yours. Because when we are out there in the woods, desert or seaside, there is nothing better!