Camp Fires

 ... the view as evening falls at the campfire ...

Bonnie has been looking for a perfect place for a hammock.

Her friends bought her one and put it up in a tree at their house.

Now she has an open invitation to be there. But it is a twenty minute drive to Marla's and sometimes someone needs a quick quiet spot, just a small time opens up where one could swing under a canopy of leaves.

Bonnie has been out looking for a perfect place for a hammock. She is observing one rule. Find the place for the hammock before she buys it. Knowing the exact perfect spot to choose will make the size and shape of the hammock easier to choose

Ceilidh roasting a super-sized marshmallow.

When I go outside, I look for the right spot for her as well. I am choosing all of the spots I love: up by the raspberry bushes where there is a view of the stream framed by two trees; over in the clump birches where Michael likes to play in the sand; down by the portable campfire pit.

Twin flower vines tumble down the embankment.
A new huckleberry bush has been discovered on the hill.
Let the coals die down.
Let the evening ghost stories begin.

The latter has become my favorite spot when I have an extra twenty minutes and I want to work in the yard.

Just a small increment of time opens up and I am down there with a rake and a shovel, trying to make the ground smooth around the fire pit.

Or I am cutting out the salmon berries that obstructing the perfect view.

Or I am arranging the cedar table and the patio chairs so that there is a circle big enough to include everyone around the fire. So much land.

So many perfect places.

Arta