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The cracking and popping of the campfire was like a symphony welcoming us into the woods. My friends and I had backpacked deep into the forest, miles away from any roads or buildings, to enjoy a weekend of camping and telling stories under the stars. We were surrounded by tall evergreen trees that stood like silent sentinels around our little clearing. Their peaks seemed to brush against the vast night sky above.
As darkness fell, we lit our fire, the small orange flames licking up towards the heavens. We spread out our sleeping bags in a circle around it, so we could all see each other and the firelight dancing across our faces. The fire was our torch keeping the thick forest shadows at bay.
When it was my turn, I lowered my voice and began my tale:
"Many years ago, before any towns or roads cut through these ancient woods, a Native American tribe made its home along the river that runs not five miles from this very spot..."
My story transported us back in time, to an era when the woods teemed with wildlife never seen by modern eyes. Back when the Native tribes still roamed the land unencumbered by borders or fences. I described the tribe's lifestyle - the bark and hide huts they called home, the fishing and hunting that kept them fed. They were at one with the forest and all its creatures...
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