With fuel prices nearing insanity levels, and the world falling apart around. I felt I should share an experience I recently had, camping in Lewis & Clark’s National Forest.
I pulled into this little campsite off the beaten path around midnight, not sure how I got there, but knowing where I was headed in the morn.
I flatten the seats down, lay out my Thermarest and the miniature pointer crawls in my sleeping bag to warm me feet. I shove both to the bottom of the small trunk. This should be interesting.
The night is cold and dark, bear spray and .40 cal next to where I rest. This is Grizz country. Where the Salish & Kootenai formed the great Flathead 🪶 nation once upon a time. I close my eyes and listen to the rain on the thin tin roof.
These long days out on the trapping line are hard fought and my body aches from the pain of the strain. But my soul is at peace, listening to the rain!
1 Chronicles 16 promises none shall harm as I rest. The morning is cold and damp, but by the grace of Creator, the little 4cyl starts right up. She warms me and the drink nicely.
Listening to the river and the chickadees singing of their morning tunes lifts my fearful spirits. I do not fear, but my primal brain imagines a bear. The fear of being attacked inside my car.
I am a sardine inside a tin can. Glad I’ve got my .40 around!
The clouds hang heavy with fog and the mountain’s dew. It’s like waking in an evergreen heaven. I say a little prayer of gratitude and hit the road, back on the trail.
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