“Compass?”
“Check.”
“Matches?”
“Check.”
“Maple syrup?”
“Check.”
“Swiss Army Knife?”
“What do you think?”
It was on.
With shouldered packs we set off.
The acorns were scarce at first
but more plentiful later.
Waters roared from recent rains.
Wildflowers were glorious!
I gathered some violets.
Then shelling, leaching, drying and
grinding the bitter nutmeats.
Fire on, cast iron oiled and
the first cakes were poured.
The judges seemed astonished.
We smiled.
First prize in the second only
backwoods pancake contest.
Pete thought it was the syrup
we made in Vermont.
I knew it was the violets.