The deep purple falls...and stars begin to twinkle

Kim Gross photo

Mike Boyer steers for home. Lonnie Boyer photo

There is a wonderful rhythm to life at camp and one of the neatest things is what happens each evening.
One by one the fishing boats return to their docks. Their occupants get out and someone brings fish into the fish house for cleaning. The others head to their screened porches, sit down with a drink and watch another wonderful day come to an end.
The loons, like night watchmen, call back and forth to each other until everything seems to their satisfaction and they become silent.
The whole camp is eventually still, except perhaps for a few late-night card players. It is often them who, just before calling it a night, walk outside and find there are northern lights. The rest of us are already asleep, preparing for another glorious day on the water.
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