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There is nothing, NOTHING, better than a campfire.

It has been a tense few weeks in the Misiura-Nowotarski household. Relief of said tension required a trip.

We like to camp. We like getting up a little stiff with the birds to a light breeze and mountain laurel. We like pushing our legs all day to get to tops of mountains. And we love cooking over campfires.

This past weekend we went to the Blue Ridge Mountains. More specifically- Mt. Pisgah. It was beautiful, minus the very large tower at the peak of the mountain. However, the 300 other degrees to look at allowed us to pretend the unsightly tower did not exist.

We arrived on friday evening to the Mt. Pisgah campground which, luckily, had a few one night sites left. We chose a delightfully secluded site settled among mountain laurel. Due to the nature of the blog and in turn, our nature, I must tell you the menu for the weekend. That night we had chicken thighs marinated in garlic, olive oil, sage, basil and majoram and white wine cooked over the wood fire in a cast iron skillet, followed by green beans from the garden ( fried lightly in the chicken juices...) and a potato and onion foil pack. And a bottle of pinot noir. yes it was a state park and yes we live on the edge like that.

The next morning we had eggs and bacon and left over potatoes (fried in bacon fat) and broke camp with the plan to hike the mountain and then set off more south for another campground, new sights and trails. We set off on the ~7 mile hike to the top of Mt. Pisgah. Where we encountered a 6-7 year old girl in big pink glasses who would have given melissa a run for her money on most talkative. We also passed a 5 year old boy hiking up in crocs...poor packing choice but he was plucky that's for sure. We saw him again at the top and again back on the way down. We had a quick lunch of chicken/bacon sandwich and an apple. We hopped in car and headed for another site- on the most curvy steep road ever. it was fantastic and i could only think that my mother would die from motion sickness. Lucy was having none of it, that's for sure. Long story short we tried three other campgounds only to find that they were all private and thus could be reserved and were. No vacancy. A delightful woman told us that they get full in the summer and next time we should really reserve a site. No shit. Thanks.

We headed back up to the parkway to hope that Mt. Pisgah hadsomething available, or it was going to be sleeping in the packed car with a dog in the Pisgah Inn parking lot, or driving the 4 hours home. Luckily they had a van site open, talk about relief. So we were back where we started, but rather happy about it. We pitched the tent on the drive and had kielbasa and sauerkraut sandwiches and baked beans with chianti. Not the best choice for the close confines of the tent, and we will not be including that meal on our next trip. Although it was quite good. We were offered koran bbq in return fo contact solution by our next door neighbors and it was quite good. Our neighbors on the other side were clearly having something like a men's weekend which I'm sure was great for the small boys and uncles involved. The only problem was they had a young dog that was not trained and frankly they seemed to not care for the thing except to yell at it half heartedly and gernerally ineffectively. So it ran about in the road, much to lucy's unhappiness- for she was leashed and wanted to attack. We took a 2 mile stroll out the parkway to take in the sunset.

The next morning (sunday) we had eggs and potatoes. Followed by the worlds most unrewarding hike except for the fact that we did it. 10 miles total. down down down down the mountain with sore hips. We both agreed that downhill is worse than going up. At the bottom there was a small stream and some odd people at a walk in campsite. So then we turned around and went up with a good deal of switchbacks. Halfway Lucy quit (as seen in the small picture) she laid down and pretty much said, i'm done- you keep on going, i'm not going any further...i might die. So I took her puppy backback so she could make it to the top. The other small picture is me quitting...luckily we were at the top of the steepest part. The hike back we took a loop that was GORGEOUS. Moss over boulder fields with little streams crossing the path- fantastic, it made the last 2 miles great after the straight UP of the previous 3.

Linda, the over-achiver optimist that she is thought we'd get two hikes in. After that we were done..moved camp within the camground again to a tent site that was set off by itself. Linda took a quick nap in the hammock while I did waht has been ingrained in me since brownies- nothing to do...GATHER FIREWOOD. We made an early dinner of chili (with left over korean bbq in it- lovely!). Got a slight rain shower, but nothing a tarp couldn't fix. Then we thought, we could get a quick 4 mile hike in. Ha. We made it 0.1 miles in before we decided that while we weren't going to make it, Lucy certainly was not as she was limping a bit. We always have such grand plans. We walked out the parkway a bit to take in the scenery, returned and made a beautiful fire with a banana graham cracker chocolate dessert and called it a night.

We awoke to a chilly windly morning that did not allow a fire so we packed up and headed out.

All in all a great weekend. Even better since I think linda takes the prize for best marshmallow roaster...ever.

A Little Bit of Non-Fiction.

That night in York, walking by the river, I was captivated by the smell of the light rain hitting the pavement, the odor of ozone that somehow strikes fresh and a little stale at the same time, and yet slightly oppressive. The lights reflecting into the river, a myriad of colors, I was convinced I could capture these to experience again anew (and yet they were recorded as streaks of blurry color, no more reminiscent of a river and its stick and stone built friends than flashes of greys and greens and whites of a meadow...). As for taste that night, I recall the crisp texture of the cucumbers I plucked from the Pimms, and the smooth sweetness of the liquid itself. The firm, sure, tactile feeling of the steps beneath my feet, the weight of that large limb that morphed from walking stick to a giant token on which to make a wish, I felt the laughter and the freedom of being in a foreign land and experiencing a night full of possibility. Where there is possibility for anything to happen, there I suppose I feel that life is worth living. While it is comforting to live within a routine of rote measures and expected contentment, where there is no possibility, it seems that something is lacking... In York, the night might have gone on forever, if we had let it. I like nights like those, where sleep seems to be only a distant requirement for life.