This photo was also taken in January 2007 right after I got my telephoto lens. Just thinking about that day makes me shiver because it was so cold, but when the sun is out, it’s difficult to stay inside regardless of the minus sign in the forecast. If I ever get frostbite and my fingers turn black and fall off, I’m blaming my parents for making me play outside all day every day growing up. Damn you for giving me an appreciation of nature.

However, please never invite me camping, unless your version of “camping” involves staying in a sort of place like the Lake Placid Lodge. I had my fair share of camping in high school when my friends and I would take off for the weekend to camp (read: drink). Sleeping on the ground was basically a step up from passing out at someone’s house or trying to sneak back into your own because you had your own sleeping bag, pillow, and tent without any worries of being caught. Except, of course, when the state park cops came and dished out tickets for underage drinking.

And while I’m on the subject, I might as well revert back to my earliest years spent at summer camp. Ah, the good old 4-H Camp Wabasso. We had bunk beds there! And mosquito infested cabins. The girls were uphill, the boys downhill. But naturally that didn’t stop the boys from climbing the unnaturally steep and somewhat dangerous hill to sneak into our cabins and stay up well past “lights out.” Though one time we took it too far when we all decided to venture out on the 3 mile long nature trail, first stopping to eat all the younger campers cookie dough out of the walk-in fridge. 2 am, 3 flashlights, and 7 or 8 people. Safe? Not exactly. Exciting? For a 13 year old adolescent, absolutely. Though it wasn’t so exciting when we got caught and had to clean the entire campgrounds the next day.

Needless to say, my years at summer camp soon expired after that incident.