CAMPING PA-502

The tempting aroma of campfire coffee mixed with wood smoke drifted through the open tent door. But Jean burrowed further in her sleeping bag and squeezed her eyes shut hard. She wasn't getting up yet; this was a special time she'd looked forward to for months.

The children were urging their father in excited whispers to start frying the fish. Jim had crawled out of his bag at dawn to get brook trout for this, their first breakfast in camp. It was a family tradition, Jim's making breakfast the first day. Jean would take over after this, but right now she was enjoying every minute of the unusual luxury.

It was good to know the youngsters liked camping. They should, of course. She had met Jim at a National Forest campground, and they'd vacationed in the forests ever since, taking the children even when they were babes in arms.

When the hot fat started to crackle in the frying pan, she knew it was time to open her eyes and let them know she was awake. Sure enough, the sun was edging over the eastern ridge, splashing its color across the top of Pine Mountain to the west. Brr . . . it was nippy! She could tell by the tip of her nose. She'd forgotten that in the mountains August nights are cold.

"How about a cup of coffee in bed?" she called.

"She's awake!" the youngsters shouted. "Now we can talk."

Bless them, they thought they'd been quiet all this time.

Thus one family started its camping vacation—one of millions of families that each year head for America's Playgrounds, the 154 National Forests and 19 National Grasslands administered by the Forest Service of the U.S. Department of Agriculture.