That Woodsy Feeling

What a glorious day. It is 6 a.m. The air is crisp, but not cold. I breathe in the strong scent of pine and red fir; their old growth needles making new ground cover underneath the trees. There's something about the feel of the air and smell of the earth that reminds me of summer camp when I was 12 years old. I liked it then and like it now. Camp Teresita Pines was nestled in the mountains near Wrightwood, California. In 1963 Wrightwood was still rural and remote, seemingly a long way from Bell, a tiny L.A. suburb. Girls shared bungalows and slept in bunk beds. Since we were members of Junior Catholic Daughters (akin to Girls Scouts) we started each day by attending an outdoor Mass ; we then went on nature hikes, swam, played Volleyball, learned to make leather crafts, and cook hamburgers wrapped in tin foil buried in coals. We sang 'Kumbayha' and other songs by the campfire every night. It was a wonderful woodsy experience for most of us young city gals.

A lifetime later, here in my own little rural corner of the woods the sweet sound of a Black Headed Grosbeak seranades me as I water flowers and fill the bird feeders with seed. My husband Gary greets me with a freshly poured cup of decaf coffee and a Cowboy cookie. We sit down at the table and chairs on our deck and take in the beauty of Lake Coeur d' Alene as it glimmers and shimmers in the early light of day.

I suggest to Gary it might be fun to build a campfire tonight and join voices in song; "Someone's singing Lord, Kumbayha, someone's singing Lord, Kumbayha"