I stay in the tent until my husband tells me the coffee is perking. It’s one of the few luxuries available out here in the woods. Slowly, I roll out of my sleeping bag and pull on cold blue jeans. Dick has built a small fire and I drag my canvas chair close to the warmth.
“Here,” he says, “See if it’s strong enough.” I watch the steaming liquid arc into my mug and can tell it’s plenty strong.
Then Dick points behind me and I turn slowly to see twin fawns scampering out of the woods into the wide meadow next to our campsite. They are so young they still have their spots and seem oblivious to our presence.
Maybe they haven’t learned to be afraid of humans yet. We watch them graze and play and then—at some signal which is imperceptible to us—the fawns gallop back across the meadow and disappear into the woods.
“Their mother got worried,” Dick says.
“I know the feeling,” I say.
After breakfast, we dismantle the tent and load our gear into the truck. Dick has owned these wooded acres for many years but recently decided to put the property up for sale.
I stand in the meadow for a few more minutes. If I knew this was the last time, could I enjoy it more? No.