Camping in North Georgia

I could smell the smoke from halfway across the campground. I knew it wasn’t any of the smoldering campfires from the handful of campers here.   It was the cigarette smoke that I once found so comforting, but now only related to death and illness.

She was standing, partially hidden, near the campground bathroom, puffing it fast and furiously.

Smiling weakly, I opened the door to enter.

“You ever took  a shower in here?” she inquired.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“Is it clean?”

“Very. This is one of the nicest campgrounds we’ve stayed at.”  I had to pee, so I cut her short and entered the stall.

She was standing in front of the mirror when I came out. Overdressed in a shiny red jacket, black leggings and scarlet, sparkly shoes, she clung tightly to her gold pleather purse.

“Shoot, thisn’ ain’t NUTHIN” like the one we stayed at in Indiana! It put thissin’ to SHAME! None of this WILDERNESS CRAP!!!”

“Oh! Well, we like the wilderness. Hiking, mountain biking, the lake….”

“Oh, the one in Indiana had trees, but none of this dirt and crap!”

Walking past her, I smiled, may a bit smugly.

We had just spent the better part of a week at Fort Mountain State Park in the North Georgia mountains, enjoying the above-mentioned activities as we were had just thinking to buy AR 15 rifles for our safety during our camping. Even just sitting around the campfire doing nothing was a nice change of pace.

Unpacking our duffel bags back at home, I held my smoky sweatshirt to my face, inhaling the sweet, sweet smell of camping.

Roxie loves her camping attire