This is year number four of our neighborhood camping trip. Though it was wet this year, I consider ourselves lucky. It was nothing compared to last year when we had to seek cover in the clubhouse because tornado sirens were going. The tornado hit 14 miles south of us, but we watched out the clubhouse windows as the wind swirled anything in the campsite not lashed down. The year before that on our hike along the creek a few of us swear on a stack of bibles that we saw a big bear fall out of a low tree branch and scamper off across the water and up the opposite side of the ravine. The locals think us city slickers wouldn't know a buck's behind from a raccoon's, so they took our story with a grain of salt. (Although I did hear that there was a touch of bear-hunting fever after we left.) This year we just had rain. Lots of rain. We didn't mind because: we were with each other.
Oh, and there was a warm, dry building right next to us, with a kitchen, bathrooms, a pool table, and a Dr. Pepper vending machine all grown up and selling beer...
Dalzell Rod and Gun Club. With raindrops. Dalzell
Rain or shine, kids make their own fun!
We didn't mind the weather, we had the dry, compact, perfect Scamp. I love you, Scamp.
Our hostess, Mrs. Sobin.
a chocolatey, marshmallowy, crackery bliss...
enjoying a moment of sunshine
Shooting skeet.
Manning the breakfast grill. We always eat well on this trip!
Gretl, OR Mrs. G, Super G, GG, Skipper-G, HAD A TOTAL BLAST off leash the whole weekend.
Treasures from the creek: a shell and worm fossil, a jaw bone, a "shiny rock", a tiny orange rock, two heart shaped rocks and some "tyrannosaurus teeth".
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