The hills and mountains are in bloom—all the native wildflowers and beauties of the higher grounds at our feet and above our heads; clouds hanging above tall pines on blue skies…  how beautiful Nature is, and how beautiful this time of the year.  Campground speaking, thought, things are bad.  Things are  not as it used to be years ago when one could head out to the woods and mountains and always find empty spaces where to accommodate our gypsy souls and gypsy caravan.  Now, not even reserving ahead of time brings you any luck; for everything is taken from weeks and weeks ahead of time, and it you go out without a reservation, the possibilities of camping are null.  No luck whatsoever.

Our beautiful state had been discovered by Californians.  People from other states too, they are moving in packs here, but particularly people from California.  Hundreds and thousands of houses and building complex are being built and our beautiful and quiet country roads are not any more.  It is so sad.  

Either way, we were able to spend a night and half a day the following morning, Saturday.

 

 

  

  

  

 

  

   

Rain...

Came to the lake by the mountains, parked our gypsy caravan and got ready for dinner....

We followed a deer through the camp after dinner and went by the lake, to sit atop the large rocks and look into the distance... the quiet waters, snowy mountain peaks and the few youngsters surf-boarding atop crystal-clear waters.  Came back to our gypsy caravan and closed its doors to the night outside.

The following morning woke us up with rain... rain in the mountains means cold and dampness and mud... and it means breakfast eaten inside and reading and coffee making...

...mud, mud in my shoes and mud on my clothes all day long.  It stopped raining for a few minutes in the afternoon.  Went down to the lake, got a fish, took some pictures, the mountains woke up in smoke; smoke on its peaks and smoke on the water. We packed, and left.