As I lay awake in bed early this morning, the quiet sounds were interrupted by a loud, "Caw, caw, caw," right outside my bedroom window. You might think I'd be bothered, especially at 5:50 am. Quite the opposite is true.
That one bird, with those three vocalizations, took me back to Labor Day family camp at Fort Stevens campground, over on the Oregon coast. Every morning I'd be wakened by the same sound. At the time I thought, "Seriously? You stupid crows! Go back to your nest!!!"
But now, it just reminds me of all the fun I had. My family are not campers. Mom's idea of camping is a 50' RV, and if I could choose, I'd take that over a tent any day. Even so, camping with the church was something I looked forward to every year. Being the pastor's son, I often got special treatment, and wasn't above taking advantage of people who felt sorry for me. I rarely had to bring my own food. Each morning, after I couldn't pretend to sleep through the crows constant noise, I'd make the rounds of different camp sites, getting breakfast at each site.
My favorite was always Grampa Jess's breakfast: potatoes, eggs, bacon, cheese (possibly other ingredients), all mixed together in a breakfast casserole, straight from the cooking pot. Mmmmmmmmmmmm. Just thinking about it makes my mouth water.
Mr. Crow, thanks for the reminder.