waynecook
FollowBold lies
Back when I was a little kid, my dad would take us on camping trips, several boys from our small town in Kentucky, in the Cumberland gap. Often through the summ...
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Back when I was a little kid, my dad would take us on camping trips, several boys from our small town in Kentucky, in the Cumberland gap. Often through the summer, a few times in fall, we'd haul the tent he and my mom had built from canvas and painted on water repellent.
It has a greasy smell, that tent, but it held all of us in various angles with our blankets and such. No one had money for sleeping bags, we just rolled up flannel or quilts.
After supper, we'd make s'mores from the chocolate and marsh-mellows and graham crackers Dad had brought along, not realizing that chocolate was dear after WW2, and mom had gone without something to supply the Hershey's to our venture.
The stories came with the snack, and the tales would string into the night. We usually stopped when one of us fell off a log, leaving the rest in gales of laughter. My dad would read some short passages from a Gideon Bible he had along, as most of us were in children's Sunday School together at a tiny weather beaten chapel down a back alley in the coal town where we all lived.
Needless to remind, we hadn't been taught to wind up such whoppers, but boys will naturally hunt for the most manly story each can construct...Bold Lies.
Read less
It has a greasy smell, that tent, but it held all of us in various angles with our blankets and such. No one had money for sleeping bags, we just rolled up flannel or quilts.
After supper, we'd make s'mores from the chocolate and marsh-mellows and graham crackers Dad had brought along, not realizing that chocolate was dear after WW2, and mom had gone without something to supply the Hershey's to our venture.
The stories came with the snack, and the tales would string into the night. We usually stopped when one of us fell off a log, leaving the rest in gales of laughter. My dad would read some short passages from a Gideon Bible he had along, as most of us were in children's Sunday School together at a tiny weather beaten chapel down a back alley in the coal town where we all lived.
Needless to remind, we hadn't been taught to wind up such whoppers, but boys will naturally hunt for the most manly story each can construct...Bold Lies.
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sweetpea72
November 07, 2016
Nothin like campin... Open fire, the stars, the crisp air...and smores... The best!! i have sooo many campin memories from when i was a little kid til now with my kids!! Thanks for the memories シ
waynecook
November 10, 2016
I may be on my own now lol...I had to setup a tent in the back yard for my kids to get aclimatized! :-) Welcome, Melissa!
barbaramillesrobinson
November 18, 2016
Viewing your photos and enjoying your stories is comparable to watching a movie. Beautiful inspiring work, Wayne!
photoflea
April 30, 2017
wonderful. you have an art for story telling, and the photograph is spot on, for the narrative, Bravo, Elizabeth
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