I remember the smell of pine so sharp is stings my nose. Such a distinct difference from the smell of the city. Gas and hot asphalt. One thing you always knew how to do was camp.

That tent that seemed so big, with three separate rooms, I could stand and twirl in it. The huge campfires every night.
My first big fish. It was a German brown trout. I was so proud. I skinned it and you pulled out the bones. It had eggs inside. That’s when I learned about caviar. We stuffed it with butter chunks rolled in herbs and roasted it in tinfoil right over the fire. To this day I think it’s the best fish I ever ate.

At night we played rummy and drank cocoa. Made s’mores and laughed until our stomachs hurt. I climbed trees and swam in the river next to camp. I saw deer. The water was cold and clear coming from the mountains.

I came home sunburned, dirty, covered in mosquito bites. One eye swollen, almost shut from a bite. My mom was pissed, but I’ll never regret the experience. You did one thing right, if nothing else, you made me love nature.

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