Phantom of the Firepit

In hopes of having a get away, we made plans to go camping this past weekend. Not realizing that the entire state of Utah was looking for one last breath of summer before heading back to school, I assumed that we could easily get a campground. My naivety on the process of family vacations soon became evident. So lesson learned, reserve campground today for sometime next spring.

In an effort to save the weekend and lets face it, fake it, we headed up the canyon with some fam-iends. Looking back, it was probably best we didn't make it camping. We were very ill prepared. We were missing the following: matches, tongs, and forks. But mind you, we did remember the most important thing, toilet paper. There is no faking that. We (and by we, I mean Dave) attempted to use some matches floating in the stream that had had a nice sunbath, but with no success. We eventually bummed some off our neighboring fakers and soon the fire was crackling. We also learned that marshmallow roasters make do for tongs when moving hobo dinners, but only about five feet. And when eating hobo dinners, why not make like a hobo and use your fingers.

Throughout our laughter and disruption of others, something was roaming about with quiet glee. Phantom Hunter was lurking around doing what every boy should be able to do. His favorite spot was a large pile of ash. The result could never be recreated.



My favorite part has to be catching him in mid swipe. I guess when you can't grow whiskers, painting them on will do. He just doesn't want to listen when I tell him not to grow up too fast.

After much disappointment in not sleeping under the stars, I took away from our adventure that you don't have to be organized to make the best memories.