A ramshackle cabin stuck in the sweeping hills, a hideaway of sorts. Not a resort by any stretch of any imagination. A destination for a few summers in the late sixties. “Cactus”, an old codger, the last bar stool at the local tavern; his place. His son, a friend of Dad’s invited. Bring the boys to fish and swim and hike in the hills.

The lake water was murky, the catfish were ugly and the incline was so steep it hurt your feet to think of venturing upward. Yet, we had a ball. The men folk drank and “stank” to high heaven. The boys pitched our tents and had adventures. The stars and moon illuminated and we were satiated on marshmallows and “Dogs”. Campfire and stories with all the gory details left in. Long gone, absorbed by sprawl, now a part of the ski resort that claimed her. Fond in memory, we had named her “Camp Cactus.”

Adventure filled us
with stories to tell, learning
where our hearts could lead.

(C) Walter J Wojtanik- 2016

Poetic Asides April Poem-A-Day Challenge – Day #9: “Hideaway”



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