Lessons from the campfire

Every April, as soon as the thermometer hit sixty-five degrees, the itch to go camping struck John like a bad patch of poison ivy. I knew better than to argue the merits of staying home until the local weatherman could promise nightly temps above freezing. I had not won that argument in thirty years of marriage to the man. This year, as the thermometer on my deck once again reached that magic number, I smiled over my sudsy and steaming-hot sink full of dirty dishes. I recalled the many times John's cry of "Let's go camping!" heralded the start to our summer and I recalled the hilarious life lessons that inevitably followed those crazy camping weekends.