Hello people. This is the author speaking. I’m here to introduce you to Hermit Island Campground, and this story. But mainly the campground. Doncha love it?

Okay. Basically, this is going to be a bunch of short stories detailing occurrences at Hermit Island. Some will be stupid, some short, some so clichéd that you’ll want to hurl, and others so out there you won’t get it if you read it a hundred times. Just letting you know what you’re up against.

Hermit Island Campground is in Small Point, Maine. Go find a map, I’m not telling you exactly where it is. So anyway, this place is primitive. At the campsites, there’s no running water, no electricity, nada, zippo. You can only tent, or come in a pop-up camper. That’s right, no big rigs, no fifth wheels, none. It’s dirt roads winding through sand dunes and forests, with potholes. Basically, the only updates since it opened have been flush toilets and warm water to shower with.

Funny thing is, this is my favorite place on earth (hence the whole writing a bunch of stories about it thing). It’s got the ocean, it’s got wind, waves, sun, storms, everything you need to live. Well, if you can stand living without amenities, that is. It’s the most refreshing experience on earth to fall asleep to the bell buoy and wake up with the lobster boats. The world drops away and all there is is nature and relaxation.

Enough with the introductions. I recommend doing a search for Hermit Island Campground and finding all this out for yourself before calling the campground and booking a site for a week this summer. Anyway, time for you to get the experience secondhand through these short stories. Hope you enjoy them and… What was I saying? Oh right, go read. I’ll stop babbling.

Zen Goddess