By Adam S. Kibbe

I’ve nothing urgent or profound to share, alas, but the unholy duo below creeps me out, and the only way to move them down and off the ìfront pageî is by posting new entries — something the Wizard of Wacton has let languish. I do what I can.

Nature toys with us in these parts — elsewhere, too, probably, but Ptolemaic perspectives are irresistible. Barely a week ago, it was pushing 60. Then, last weekend, 6î+ of snow. Yesterday it was almost 70 — a blizzard can’t be far off.

And Michael wants to go camping.

One warm spring day some years ago, I and the Miller/Canning family left behind all the friends who wouldn’t come and drove up to Aziscohos, a revisiting of a site too cushy for the guys’ camping trip that first explored it, but ideal for an easy group getaway. Snow lingered in the shadows, but bright sun greeted us as we set up camp. And the April water was just as cold as the October lakes we usually experience.

I’m too wrapped up in work hyperdrive to yet contemplate my agreement to help Mike indoctrinate the gang of teenagers he proposes to expose to ìrealî camping. I don’t even know where we’re going (nor does he, in all likelihood), so I’ll probably just get into it there, a day or two before leaving, as usual.

But I won’t try to second guess the weather. I’ll bring a bathing suit and suntan lotion, and the usual 85 layers of warmth. And a map, in case we’re still making up our minds on the way, just as the weather here seems to be………