I fell to sleep at 10pm among the trees with the smell of woodsmoke lingering in the dark air and the noisy sounds of neighbors' conversations. When I woke up briefly around 2am, the only noise was the calling of owls--two different kinds!--and the throaty rattle of a raccoon snooping around the campsite. It's fast becoming our tradition to spend Memorial Day weekend camping with friends at Raccoon Creek. I had a realization on the crowded beach there yesterday, as heavily tattooed men and women in mullets smoked cigarettes on every side of us, and Leonard Skynard played from somebody's beach radio: Raccoon Creek is nice if you use it simply as what it is, a playground for holidays. It's pretty, and large, and well-equipped. It's no wilderness destination, but it's a pleasant, scenic spot to spend a long weekend. Despite the crowds, I actually like going there on those rare occasions. But when you try to make it your regular weekly hiking spot, it just can't deliver. Use the place sparingly, like the restaurant where you only eat on your anniversary or the church you only attend at Christmas....
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