For the past two weeks he's talked about nothing else: The Camp. Capital C because — for now at least — it's the only one that exists in our little circle. It'll be his second year at Port-au-Saumon and he's been looking forward to it all year long. Seeing his friends again; smelling the ocean; exploring the forests, the streams; catching snakes and salamanders and living a boy's adventures.
It's a four hour drive, through mountains and a meandering coastline. The river becoming the sea, its waters slowly feeling the tidal pull, becoming saltier as we head towards the east. We get a short tour of the facilities and the grounds and when the time comes for us to leave, it barely registers; he's off to Neverland, the Lost Boys are waiting and we have become outsiders.
In the distance, I hear the first few notes of his call to freedom.