One of the first things she did after we finished setting up camp, was to challenge herself by climbing out onto a fallen tree over the watery depths. One of her friends enthusiastically joined her, her little brother's attempt was thwarted by me, and others watched curiously.


 As in the tribal name Awenatchela, which means "people at the source [of a river]", this is exactly who we were for a few days.  When our families gathered at the beach, around the picnic table, or around the fire, I was repeatedly stunned by how classic each moment felt.  Dirty kid's faces and grubby t-shirts fill the frame.  Scenes and photos that could be the same from when I was a child.  Although I am often searching for a new experience at a new camp site or something to offer a new adventure, I forget that what I'm actually yearning to do are the same things people have been doing for millenia.  We were people at the source of Lake Wenatchee.

The most important thing to pay attention to were the clear and highly directive instructions on how to roast the most wicked good marshmallow.  Whether you choose to add the graham crackers, eat the charred black bits, or wear matching shoes or not, it didn't matter.  All that mattered was that we laughed until it hurt and held one another close.  At the same time keeping braids in our hair for four days under a canopy of trees until we drove home over the range.



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