I got home yesterday afternoon, contentedly exhausted, sandy, sunburnt and a little smelly. I threw my dirty clothes into the washing machine and was gifted with one last wafting odor pocket of the brackish waters of the Chesapeake before I closed the lid. I took a long shower, and scrubbed the last of the gritty mud off the bottoms of my feet. With the last of the physical remnants washed down the drain, all I have left of the weekend is a still-in-progress multi-colored lanyard (you’ve got to do at least one art project at camp) and a collection of really terrific memories.

There was swimming and playing in a sun-warmed pool. A bonfire, s’mores, and a two year old having her first experience with a marshmallow. A group of friends sitting around the fire after all the families went to bed; drinking, laughing and telling stories. Six of us laid out on our backs on a dock that stretched far into the bay, looking at impossibly bright stars. Skinny-dipping. A drive into town, on narrow ribbons of road, no other cars in sight. Naps in the grass. Kayaking, sailing and more swimming. Ingrid on the guitar and the rest of us singing in waning light. An impressively tall Jenga tower. Bad food made delicious by hunger and joyful company. Packing up, taking pictures and driving home again.