The Water's Edge

The dusk gave way to night, the highway to smaller roads that began to climb into the darkness. We drove by rocky outcrops and electric signs advertising restaurants and hotels. I strained to see the details of the landscape hidden in the darkness. The air began to cool. I looked at the roadmap as Vladi drove.

"We're getting close to Woodstock," I said. The name was thrilling. There was Woodstock and we were in the Catskill Mountains, home to the Borscht Belt comedians that I'd grown up watching on The Merv Griffin Show. The night was clear, the sky filled with a billion stars.

We drove on more slowly searching for road signs, winding and climbing. We found a sign for a campground. It was late now and in spite of our excitement, we were tired.

"Let's pull in there for the night," Vladi offered.

"Sure, sure, let's go there."

We drove into a campground, past a small, wooden shack that was closed, following a crunchy winding road.

"This looks good," I said, pointing.

Vladi steered the van into a spot beside a lake and cut the engine. Silence. We stepped out of the van as quietly as thieves, like spies, creeping over to a flat spot with a little stone fire pit and a place to pitch the tent. I looked at Vladi, and he shook his head. Then we walked down to the edge of the lake not forty feet away and peered out into the night. The still water made a second heaven reflecting the brilliant stars, dead flat and black. We stood still, just looking. "I am seeing this for myself," I thought. "Nobody brought me to this place. I came here. I am standing on my own."

"Let's set up camp," Vladi said. "And let's make something to eat. I'm hungry."

"OK. I'll set up the tent. You find some wood for the fire."

"There's a whole pile of it right here." He pointed to a stack of cut wood next to the stones of the fire ring.

"Great. See if you can get it started."

In a little while, we sat facing a small flame, the tent at our backs, watching the meat cook on the camping grill my father had given me. Vladi sat with his knife, waiting. We opened a can of beans and put them in a pot and set them on the grill and listened to the wood as it popped and crackled. By the time the beans began to boil, the meat looked ready. Vladi cut it down the middle and threw one half onto my metal plate. I scooped some beans out of the pot.

When dinner was finished, I took the metal plates and rubbed them good with sand just the way it said to in the camping books, then I took some water from the lake and washed them off. Vladi set another small log on the fire. I could feel the cooler air descending.

"What do you think, Vladi?"

"It's good," he said taking out a joint. "It's real good."