When I was a teenager, I resented camp. Because I never went to camp.
Every summer, my buddy Pete would disappear for weeks. He’d leave Kansas and head to Sanborn Western Camp in the mountains west of Colorado Springs. For me, the hot, humid weeks dragged on. Then he’d come home telling tales of adventure in the alpine Oz.
Stories like this: “Once while picking ground plums, which tasted like raw green beans, we uncovered an ancient hunting site full of arrowheads, charcoal and flint chips.” He also had encounters with bears, coyotes, and mountain lions.
*** Read the rest at my re-launched blog – Learn From Nature
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