My father took me camping in the northern Pennsylvania mountains. He taught me how to shoot a rifle, to fish, to build a fire, to sleep under the stars, to recognize the call of the whippoorwill, the screech owl, to catch and clean trout and fry them up in freshly cooked bacon grease for breakfast- to wash in the brook, drink from springs, to care for our surroundings, and to trust him.
He walked me across this bridge many times, until I could cross it alone.
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September 17th, 2019
Viewed 59 Times - Last Visitor from Rochester Hills, MI on 10/16/2019 at 8:47 AM