Mist Rising over the Valley of the Elk, Quehanna

And then dawn came. At home, I am usually up at 6 am. But this morning at our back country site in the Valley of the Elk, I somehow slept in until just a few minutes before 7:30, when my husband walked over and stared down at me as I was sleeping in my tent.

"Are you up?" he asked. I pretended I was: "Yes!" I lied. "Is there mist in the valley?" I asked. (Even when not fully engaged, my brain immediately leaps to one thing: PICTURES!) "YES!" he replied. And I was out of my sleeping bag and tent like a lit firecracker!

I scurried out to the rock overlooking the valley. It was rather chilly - the overnight low had been around 43 degrees F. All of the dampness had turned to dew overnight, and when the sun hit it, it turned to mist and rose into the light.

I tried to scamper down the hill like I did the afternoon before, but my legs were unwilling; slightly uncoordinated. And to increase the degree of difficulty, everything was soaking wet. Brush and weeds and poison ivy that the day before had been navigable were suddenly slick with dew. "Careful!" my husband called out, as he watched me toddle down the hill. Oh yes, I tried to be careful; I did not want to end up wearing poison ivy before breakfast.

I walked up and then down along the stream, taking as many pictures as I could. I knew my time with the mist was limited; it always is. The light sparkled and danced like diamonds on the creek. I crossed the rocks carefully, marveling at how quickly the mist was dissipating; what once were misty shots turned to bright, crisp colors as the morning sun took over.

See the additional photo in the extra photos area - it was taken just 10 minutes after the main photo, but look at the difference in the mist. The mist was mostly gone from the valley by 8 am. And to think, I almost missed the mist!

And then I headed back up the hill and back to our camp, where I found my husband working with his gear. "I think that someday I may get ready to take my tent down," he offered; and I looked to discover that his tent was already down, his sleeping gear airing out on a makeshift clothesline nearby.

Boy, he's quick! And sneaky! If he hadn't said something, I probably wouldn't even have noticed. But I went ahead and took my tent apart too. "Taking your tent down, I see," my husband said. "No," I lied; "Maybe later . . . "

We had lots of things on our list for the day, so we knew we had to get moving. We packed up our packs and had a little something for breakfast, and by shortly after 11, we were hiking back out through the trees, through the goldenrod, through the endless fields of poison ivy. The sun was bright and the sky was blue and it was a perfectly gorgeous day. A monarch or two led me on a merry chase but I didn't get any great shots - turns out I'm not quite so mobile with a full pack on!

We dawdled a little on the way out, stopping for every pretty view and every nice breeze. And then comes one of the best parts of backpacking, which is to say the part where you make it back to the car and get to take your gear off and stow it and SIT for the ride home.

Except that we were not going immediately home. The swimming areas at a few local state parks are still open. So we grabbed a bag of burgers at McDonald's and headed for an afternoon swim at Bald Eagle State Park. The swimming days are dwindling; we must claim them as we can! ("What's next in your little triathlon?" I asked my husband. "First, backpacking. Then swimming. THEN what????!!!")

Our last task before heading home was to meet the Bookmobile at one of its Monday stops to pick up a book they had waiting for my husband. (Yes, I do tend to be a buyer of books; my husband tends to be a borrower instead. Sidebar: I am trying to learn how to become a borrower instead of a buyer, as we are running out of room for books in our home!) It was like threading a needle: from backpacking, to burgers, to swimming, to books! And then home!

Happily, we arrived home at a reasonable hour, and commenced the "arriving home" tasks such as rinsing off the car, unpacking our gear, airing everything out, putting everything away, downloading the pictures. There were things I might have done, might have wanted to do, but I was so exhausted I could barely stand, let alone walk, by then. I was "played out," as my dad might say. But boy, what fun we had . . .

The song to accompany this image has to be about mist. So here is Mark Isham, with The Host of Seraphim, from The Mist soundtrack.