A Memory

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Cold, rainy mornings that turn into sunny afternoons always remind me of “Mushroom Camp”.  Every spring my family would go camping ‘up north’ from home, hunting for Morel Mushrooms.

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Many times it was rainy and cold. It was and still is one of my favorite places, and I can still smell the trees. I was devastated when the state did a clear-cut to a section of it. (Now a days I understand how it is helpful for that ecosystem.)
Those smells, the feeling of cold and wet always tugs memories out of my heart.

I remember finding a pocket knife on one of the old dirt roads, and trying to whittle like my dad. However, I wasn’t sure if I was technically suppose too, so a little ways behind camp I hid behind a tree. I learned a very good lesson that day; to place the blade away from you. I cut just a little slice into my thumb, and secretly went back to camp to find a band-aid.

I remember there being this rather large dirt hole/bowl in the ground, deep enough that if we stood inside, you couldn’t see us. It was just down the road from camp, so my cousins, siblings, and I would play constantly down there. My dad even one year helped my older cousins build a fort covering half of it.

I remember just exploring through the woods, not to far out of sight from my parents. We would all have walkie-talkies, and we would sing “On the Road Again” for anybody listening to that channel.

I remember one year, when I was a young teenager, my parents said we couldn’t go to Mushroom Camp. I’m not quite proud of this moment, but I went downstairs and threw the biggest temper tantrum of my adult life. It was horrible, I just cried my eyes out. I do believe we ended up going extremely late at night…

As I think about it, it was a very important place and part of my childhood… no…. an important part of my life.

I left for college, and now have been working all across the US, and haven’t been able to go ‘up north’ for years.

Every spring, I want to go back.

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