A Day At Camp

My friends invited me to come for a fish fry at their camp in the woods today. They've been building the camp for a couple of years now and I've been avoiding visiting there because I am a wuss.  And because there is a Bridge of Death to traverse on foot in order to get to the camp.

The Bridge of Death starts out easily enough but eventually narrows to one plank, with no hand rails, stretching over a river.  Well, actually, a stream I guess...but fast-flowing and rocky and generally wet.  One wouldn't want to fall in.  Before and after this treacherous section, the walkway is two, or even three boards wide with a whisper of rope strung along either side that one can grip for an illusion of security. Fortunately, I was travelling with my sherpa and he lent me his hand to guide me across the worst part. For obvious reasons, I have no pictures of the traverse, needing both hands to have at the ready for flailing in case of a fall. I am proud to say that I screamed only once during the crossing.

Once safely across the Bridge of Death we caught sight of the fish pond and noticed how the dock had collapsed.  We learned later that it had been washed away, along with the fish, in a recent flood from the thawing snow.

I was completely charmed by my first sight of the Tree House.  Originally, it was to have been built up in the trees, but plans and ideas got bigger and it became evident that the structure would probably be more secure if built on the ground, between the trees...though hanging over a bit of a precipice because my friends like living on the edge.

Being at the camp felt like stepping back into a simpler time.

If you axed my opinion of it, I would have said it was a pretty sharp place to have created from a pile of wood and that I was very impressed with how my neighbour had got a handle on the whole project.

(I have Photochopped this picture)

Inside the house, potatoes were already being fried up in a skillet on the woodstove

while outside, haddock was being cooked in a pan in the fire trough.

It was a lovely spring day and the three mothers that were there, myself included, were treated royally by the men folk of various ages.  

After a time, it started to rain and we retreated back inside the tree house to enjoy some hot tea while we listened to the pitter-patter of the rain on the roof.

And at the end of the day, I had my first--perhaps only--ride on the back of a three-wheeled all terrain vehicle as my host took mercy on me and drove me out by a neighbour's road, thus sparing me the trial of returning over the Bridge of Death.

I have coincidentally been in interesting places on other Mothers' Days, such as London,  Paris, and New York City...but I think just maybe this one at the tree camp will outshine them all in future memory.