Camping

I have many fond memories of camping with my parents and my brother Nick. We used to go to a place called Cherry Point, near Birch Bay in Washington State. It wasn't what most people think of when they picture going camping, no facilities and a couple of old rusted out fish conveyers nearby. The lack of luxuries was more than made up for by the ocean only being twenty feet from your campsite. The peace and quiet that was around could make one think that you were the last remnant of mankind.

During the day we walked along the shore headed to the point. I never made it though, always had to turn back. We would turn over rocks to look in on the little cities of sea creatures. There were little crabs scurrying place to place. Which always made me think that they were ladies going to do their shopping. Little sea amenoes gathered microscopic eats, tiny seaweed waved at all going by and small starfish stuck to anything that would have them.

We also looked for treasure. Treasure wore many guises from agates, sea shells and seaweed to floatsom and jetsom. Mom often found some piece of interesting driftwood that she would drag back to the campsite. Bill usually found things off of boats and then would explain what it was. Sometimes we'd find brand new rockets which we lit at night.

After supper, a great fire would be built. Stoked with dried seaweed and driftwood the blaze had a wonderful fragrance that I can remember to this day. We would roast marshmallows, play word games and stargaze into the night. Bill would also light the fireworks or launch fire logs into the black sea. We would watch the logs and hope that they'd go way out while sitting by the fire listening to National Public Radio.

And, when the fire got to the embers we'd go down to the sea with our buckets and soon put out the last glow. The black wet ash of sweet salt would be the last thing I'd smell as we'd head to bed. Goodnight, goodnight!