nickname for Johnathan Dickinson State Park -- near Jupiter -- which
is undergoing renovation).
So we stow the lawn chairs, the dogs and the outdoor carpet, roll in
the awning, pull in the slide out and drive five miles away up the
hill to spend a few days camping with the park's volunteers in a
special section where no regular campers visit. Allen's brother and
sister are volunteers, so we have family here.
What a difference family makes.
In the other part of the campground, when the sun sets, we retreat
into our motor home to dine, read, surf, whatever.
Up here, where family mills about, we do to. We find a campfire at
Claire and Steve's (not family, but could be). We stop in. They pull
up chairs for us. Their children and grandchildren stop by. As do
Allen's siblings and their spouses.
We laugh, talk and laugh.
And we hear a raccoon scratching around just outside the campfire
light and coyotes screaming after their hunt.
It's a good night.