Camp Is Where The Heart Is
The sun is setting over the James as my car roles to a stop, its tires crunching in the gravel parking lot outside of the Jamestown 4H Center’s mess hall. Despite traffic and an unfamiliar route, I seem to be the first to arrive and I take a moment to savor the quiet tranquility of the slow, deep water that, like me, has reached the end of its long journey.
It’s good to be home.
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