Memorial Day Camp Out

What is it about camping? You come home feeling exhausted but refreshed, dirty but clean. Existentially clean, maybe? I dunno.

Anyway, I went camping and swimming in the wilds of Oregon this weekend. "Swimming" is a strong term. I dove into the glacial river water and then immediately scrambled back to shore. The sun was hot by day, and the fire was hot by night. There was zero cell service anywhere. Life, for a minute there, was pretty dialed in.

I believe in the alchemy of a campsite—the fire, with its pine-scented smoke; the tent, with its blustery-thin walls (which keep out the rain but not, thankfully, the sound of babbling brooks!); the dirt; the sunset; the sooty rocks you toast your bagels on; all the pure clean time spent under the great, wide sky. Put together, there's a magic to this stuff that's, well, the province of summer.

The Clackamas River Valley is a site to behold.

Here's to chasing sticks around your own private swimming hole.

Dudes bein' dudes.

As a kid, one of my favorite things about swimming was when I got out of the water all shivery, and then my mommy wrapped me in a big ol' warm towel and dried me off.