We bought some land up in the mountains, near my folks’ house, on a creek where I’ve been swimming since I was 10. With no major renovations to deal with this summer, we headed for the hills to camp one weekend in June, which turned into two weekends in a row, then three, then…
We took a break from that spot to do our annual trip up to Lake Joccassee, but even there we tent camped. All total, it was 13 weekends of at least two nights a week lounging in floaties and building campfires (not usually at the same time.) I posted a few photos on ye olde social media, but here’s a montage of greatest hits in roughly chronological order.
No, she doesn’t love camping, mostly due to the bugs and the lack of action – unless there are other dogs present. In which case, she does not stop partying.
The hemlocks are being destroyed by an invasive critter, the woolly adelgid. Young hemlocks are still popping up, but they’re not reaching their full heights. This is allowing more sun to the ground and changing the makeup of the forest. There are various efforts to stop this, but they’re either not being applied in this area or they’re ineffective.
On the other hand, watching the rhododendron bloom over the early summer is a joy.
Camp/road improvements.
A hike up to Preacher’s Rock for the view.
A heron has been busy on this stretch of the creek.
Hike into some of our previous camping spots and the old swimmin’ hole.
Camp/storage improvements.
Trip to Lake Jocassee.
I can make Lake Jocassee look like paradise just with the right framing. But the boat traffic on weekends can get a bit intense. Camp during the week after August 20th or so, when school starts back in the Carolinas, and you’ll have a much quieter experience.
Poor attempt to make brownies for JJ’s birthday. Once the burnt bottom was peeled off, they were pretty good. We took a side trip the next day to Clayton and the lovely Tiger Drive In.
The King beamed down on his subjects as they drifted down the creek in full debauch.
The muscadines turned royal purple in his honor and the poplars rained gold at his feet.
Soon he would retire to bed and slumber, perhaps fitfully, before sighing his last breath.
The funeral procession crept up the hill, floaties and empty cups in hand.
Pork and zucchini were laid on the pyre.
Goddamn jacket season already.
Around Labor Day, the mornings at camp are suddenly crisp. You don’t want to get in that creek until the sun and/or hard work has built up a sweat. This brings on a horrifying dread in me. “Wait! I didn’t get to do all the things I do in summer!”
This year, however, I did almost all the things. We didn’t get a midnight dip in the creek, and I would’ve liked another hike to our original camp/swimmin’ hole, but, for the first time I can remember, I’m not complaining that fall is on the way.
Yes, we’ll get back to camp to watch the leaves turn, continue efforts to improve the property, play some games, eat absurdly good food, maybe have a drink or two. But the floatie races here are one of my favorite activities. As degenerate BL says, “I love this ride.”
