One of the lakes mentioned in the poem below is the place where our best friends from church lived, and where I was baptized.
The town of Winthrop, Maine boasts many thingsActivities for all the whole year through
Of long, hot days at lakes upon a string
Cobboseecontee, Carlton, naming two
But most of all, their cooks compete to wring
The last, sweet taste of fish fixed in a stew
The lakes take part, but poor Maranacook
Must always lose to Annabessacook.
When we were challenged to write about camp food, I thought about the times Mom packed up the grill--and my growing admiration for all she did for me.
MOM AND ME
My mom would pack up grill and coalsAnd take us a site untold
At campgrounds at both streams and lakes
She lit the fires that made my days
For flames to flare and sizzling meat
Add icy pop, s’mores that can’t be beat
~I never bought a grill or coals~
One camping trip with Dad and kids
Made future tries ones I forbid
Marshmallows brown on gas stove top
Hot dogs burn black in the right pot.
I don’t cook out—inside’s my thing
But where indoors can children swing?