Camping at Jackrabbit

OK, our new favorite place is Jackrabbit Mountain. It is close to town, but quiet and fun. We went out there yesterday afternoon and didn't see a soul. This is what I wrote early this morning:

When I got up the sun was still down and there was a skim of frost on the camp. After lacing my boots, I lit the burner under the coffee water, lit the fire, and peed in the bushes. When the first mug of coffee was ready, I took it, and the camera, for a walk across the road and into a little meadow. It was very still and the sun was just brightening the tips of the juniper trees, so I stopped to make a picture. In that moment, though, two other things stood out, things that cannot be collected by a camera: Up and down the little valley, the chickadees were calling—chick-a-dee-dee-dee—and the air was pungent with the smell of cold, wet sagebrush.