Would I mind if they had breakfast under the gazebo? I hesitated. Then explained I’d rather not have my tent contaminated with food odours. Not in bear country. Better to be safe than sorry, quickly adding I’d soon be taking it down. I felt a bit embarrassed, for it wasn’t my gazebo after all and could quite appreciate the desire to be under cover. I’d merely commandeered the place for the night, albeit with permission from the campground’s manager.
Jennifer seemed to appreciate my dilemma, quickly adding they wouldn’t actually be cooking anything. Rather, they just wanted to enjoy breakfast in the dry. I felt relieved. The initial awkwardness over, she and partner Ed invited me to share some fresh bread with them. Local bakery, some sort of co-operative that gave employment to those who’d otherwise struggle to find it.
They were from Seattle, making a short foray into British Columbia. Camping mostly. Jennifer had forged a career in the voluntary sector, working for various Non-Governmental Organisations. Of late helping them develop a social media presence. I gave her one of my cards, curious to know what she’d make of my own efforts.
