A few weeks back my dad loaded up two canoes with hot dogs, bug spray and beers. We pushed off and rowed towards Indian Rock, a small clearing reachable by water with a huge boulder that fronts a fire circle. I brought turkey feathers for each of us to stick in our hair, and when we docked, we accidentally slammed into my dad's canoe just as he was trying to get out. Our howling fits of laughter could probably be heard 3 miles away.
My sister Micha is our family's campfire queen. She always brings her dulcimer and plays this one folk song that I swear is ripped straight out of Ken Burns' The Civil War. I can't listen to it fully without stifling a sniffle.
Last year we celebrated her birthday by renting a small cabin in West Virginia and this year she's 10 states away. We spoke briefly on the phone today, neither one of us having great service. The basics were covered, I wished her a happy birthday and we said we loved each other and must catch up when we both had an hour to chat. I can't help but feel the whole interaction was woefully inadequate for a sisterly birthday celebration, so instead I'll think back to our campfire and dream that is was her actual birthday instead. Happy day, big sis.