Camp of My Dreams

We did a good thing this Memorial weekend. Over 50 people showed up, brought supplies, shared something of themselves. 
 I woke up the last morning of camp, Feeling blessed. My relative,  Porky who had arrived the night before with his niece and great-niece, was  across the hallway as it were, sleeping. As I lay in the floor of the large unfinished one room cabin I heard a horse neigh softly at the fence. I was the first up. All felt good and right.  My little 8 year old cousin came sleepy eyed from the big boy tent where he had wanted to stay the night before. The big boys were still sleeping on ground between the  tent and their fire. Little Jay came and sat with me under large trees before the sun came up.  I told him how to say sun in creek. As hvsse rose, Wanda, Darrel and Stan were there by what was left of the fire that had been built by a young Cherokee person the first evening of camp. He had sang a blessing song the way he had been taught and walked round and round the fire as he spoke to us in cherokee about his life thus far.
 Soon everyone was up visiting, grownups at the cooking fire and young people at theirs. 
 The breakfast of pancakes and sausage cooked on the coals tasted extra good while we listened to birdsong. 
Award winning gourd artist, Verna Bates,  her husband Fred and roy Hamilton, a writer and friend who came to help, arrived just when she said she would bringing gourds from her garden. Each young person made art appear from blank gourd canvases as Verna showed her love for her tools and what she does. All of us were amazed and excited. We took pictures  and talked of having an art show. 
Everybody mattered at legacy camp. It was close to perfect. We had lots of bugs, no running water and little sleep. But still it was  magical. If you were not there we probably thought about you. If you were there Mvto.