


















I grew up camping. I loved camping. It all started when my grandparents bought a travel trailer and a tent. They made plans with my parents at various times during the summers to go camping together. I’m from Michigan, USA originally, and in that state there are campgrounds everywhere. The coastal line along the Great Lakes provided many many campgrounds, which we frequented, and the inland lakes provided the same.
My favorite campground was at Lake Charlevoix up near Petoskey, Michigan. That would be the northwest part of the state along the coast of Lake Michigan. The emerald green and sometimes turquoise color of the water was breathtaking. While there, we went to the beach and looked for Petoskey stones (hence the name of the city). Other activities we did were fishing, swimming, hiking, riding bikes, exploring, and other kinds of interesting activities kids love to do. Eventually, our cousins went with us, which made the experience all that more fun.
Now that I am older, I don’t want to camp. The reason for that feeling has nothing to do with anything negative from my childhood experience of it, though. I have those cherished memories tucked in my heart. I guess I outgrew it and am on to other things now.
The mist crept forward over the lake,
hovering like a protective angel.
All stood quiet but for a babbling,
talking brook.
Lake Fanny Hoe,
a wilderness though she be,
beheld an emptiness of people life,
a silent hush.
Wind whispered through the trees
leaves of giant green masses as they
flex their brownish bark muscles,
regal and tall.
Behind closed eyes blissful peacefulness
in every way wanders wayward
among this nature’s haven,
soft and smooth.

Twilight comes but once a day,
The sky turns raven black,
Grass and flowers yawn away.
Stars step out to blink and wink
While the moon man smiles back,
A look that only heaven thinks.
The tide rolls in to eat the sand,
While couples stroll along the beach,
Arm in arm or hand in hand.
by L. M. Montes