At the campfire

On Monday night there was a dance at the Boda Gammalgård. The music was scheduled to be excellent. Many of the Americans were going. My list of reasons for not going was long. I'm running short on cash, my feet hurt, I'm tired, I've been to Boda, and most importantly, I love to sit by the fire.

It would have been easy in spite of that list to talk me into going to Boda if I'd been able to get cash from the bank in Furudal. I'm glad that I didn't and no one tried real hard to drag me away from the mosquito infested paradise by the lake. With all of the Americans in Boda except for me and Tom, I arrived to a campfire of friendly faces speaking Swedish, laughing and talking and relaxing like old friends do at the end of a long hard day.

The scenery is breathtaking. A still lake, clouds strafing the sky which varies from light blue to fuschia in the Swedish sunset separated by pristine forests. At our feet was the perfect fire, tended religiously by Yngve and Busse, it was always just right - never too hot or too cold for grilling and producing enough smoke to keep the mosquitoes to a tolerable level.

After a half hour of Swedish immersion, the natives got restless and demanded some music. I was happy to oblige. After I played a Swedish tune they asked for something Norwegian. Well, I don't need to be asked twice. I was joined by Pär on fiddle and Lennert on accordion.

I'm not sure it's possible to describe how wonderful it is to sit at the fire with friends and sing, play, and eat in the norther twilight, but I can say it's good for the soul. I am glad I didn't go to Boda last night, not because of the money, but why would anyone want to leave paradise? As Tom said on the way back, those are the best memories.

Of course, I never want to go to sleep after an evening like that, so I was happy to find some others sitting in the common area outside my door. I joined them for some conversation about dancing and a couple cookies before turning in for the night. It was a perfect evening.