With the weather becoming warm again and our local parks opening, I now have to think

of good reasons to turn down invitations to go camping from friends and family. While

I was still a teenager, I went as often as I could. Any weekend I was free, I was in

the woods relaxing. Sometimes I brought friends, sometimes I went by myself. After finishing

school, my life had become fairly hit tick. I still did my best to take a few camping

trips during the year. I'm glad I was so stubborn on the idea of going out in the woods

when the chance of rose, because I had met my husband on a camping trip. The story of

how he met is a bit longer than embarrassing in my part. I got out for a quick washroom break

in the middle of the night, and now also some sort of other screeching night creatures

started me, and I took a running back to where I thought my tent was. In the darkness

of the moonless night, I caught a tree root and broke my ankle. I was unable to move until

morning. I was in so much pain and embarrassment I accepted my death, ready to be a nice meal

for the wildlife. I was rescued by Nicholas. Even back then, it was a large, intimidating

looking man. For beard, accident, he looked about ready to chop me into pieces. My husband

to be was cursed with looking the complete opposite of his nature. He carried me out

of the woods, and came to the hospital with me, because not only my family members were

available in such short notice. We had barely been apart since that day, and married

the first chance we got. We met in the woods, so camping held a special

meaning for us. Every trip was almost like a honeymoon. Although we thought we clearly

looked like a loving couple on our trips, most people we met didn't clue into that fact.

They all assumed we were just two good friends drinking beer and fishing. It was a game

of ours to play cool, and see how long it would take people to start questioning things.

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