me & him.

He's taken me camping every summer since I was old enough. Just me and him. 

That first year, I woke up to him making pancakes inside our tent while a storm lingered outside. I didn't know then that he hadn't slept all night. He had been sprawled out on the ground, holding the four corners of the tent down, battling the wind that threatened to pull our stakes out of the sand. 

My favorite memories are out in his fishing boat. If I close my eyes, I can feel the warm breeze running through my hair and over my skin. I can hear our favorite country music station playing in the background in rhythm with the water softly lapping against the side of the boat. I can taste the sweetest watermelon of the season, cool and refreshing after hours in the sultry sun. And when the watermelon runs out, a quick plunge into the clear lake water before returning to our fishing poles. 

 He's always caught more fish and bigger fish than me.  So he'd switch lures with me so I'd have the best edge and tell me how awesome it would be if I caught that record muskie that was hiding in the dark, deep waters of the lake. And if it had been a while since I caught something worth noting, he'd pass me his pole to reel in a fish he'd already hooked. 

When I would wake up in the middle of the night, he'd always walk with me to the outhouses. There was something about the intensity of the darkness and the way the woods pressed in on both sides of the path that gave me relief to have someone by my side. On our way, we'd stop to look at the brilliant display above us. And there, either late at night or early in the morning, he'd teach me something new about the stars. 

That's just how he was. 

And is. 

It's the first summer we won't be hooking up the boat trailer and making the the trip to the north woods of Wisconsin. But while I'm home this week, we'll go fishing together.

Just me and him.