It was a weekend of firsts, but the scene below is not one of them. Alas, stopping at Dunkin Donuts in Centreville is, by now, a well-established aspect of the leaving town routine. On Saturday morning, we left town. We left the Eastern Shore. We left the state. And where did we go?

Camping, of course.

Seen below is the two-dome party tent we purchased by sheer impulse one otherwise forgettable evening. We were at Wal Mart and the tent was on a “double-deep discount” or some such thing for only $40.

$40 for such an extravagant expanse of sculpted nylon seemed like an impossible deal to pass up.

Before we move on, I want you to note that there is a tent inside the tent on the right. We operate on the general assumption that why use one tent when you use bring three.

Before we move on, I want you to know that there was yet another tent in the car that we opted not to set up. We operate under the general principal that setting up four tents would have raised the scorn and/or ridicule of my colleagues.

Because, you see, we were camping with my colleagues in central Virginia. The rest of them were content with one tent per family.

I have to admire their flinty, spartan ways.

In addition to pitching tents, there were other firsts.

Hammock rides.

Baby holding (although Alden has held babies before, she has never enjoyed it quite this much).

Introductory botany.

There aren’t many things in this world larger than August’s head, but this pink flower (I don’t know its name; I did not take the garden tour) is one of them.

Paddleboat rides. The retreat went down on either side of a large pond. Alden and Kato took several leisurely tours around the perimeter.

While Robbi, August, and I hiked in the woods.

Another first: Bomb-eating. The creation below, the brainchild of my company’s founder, Bernice Thieblot, the Bomb is a solid dome of layered ice cream with a chocolate glaze on top. It was an astonishing end to an astonishing feast that included pulled pork, fried chicken, collards, okra, and cheesy potatoes.

Dancing to fiddle tunes.

A first, I think. After this number, Alden did an impromptu solo performance of a song called “Peace Comes from Your Heart.” The teachers at Friendship Montessori School would have been proud.

Gosh, but we had a nice time.

And that was just day one. Day two began with bleary eyes.

And muffled snores.

And umuffled snores.

I put the awake-but-not-happy-about-it August in my bed…

…and headed out in search of breakfast.

But my diminutive bundle of walking outrage was not to be abandoned.

The rest of the family emerged moments later. Kato had one thing on his mind.

The boy’s approach to marshmallow roasting is uncomplicated.

1) Jam the marshmallow into the hottest, sootiest part of the fire until it is engulfed in flame

2) Blow it out.

3) Ask your father to eat it.

And overall, the weather was downright cooperative.

On the way home, we took a detour and drove Skyline Drive along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

It was pretty and stuff.

We took a very short (1/64th of a mile, perhaps?) hike on the Appalachian Trail, cut short by Alden’s tumbling dramatically down the hillside while stopping to smell a flower (that will teach her).

Her sadness was short lived. How can one linger long in despair when surrounded by such loveliness?

I love these people.

Night was falling as we drove across the Bay Bridge.

It was bedtime as we crossed that smaller, lesser bridge over the Chester, less than a mile from home.

Asked on the drive home  to recount their favorite part of the weekend, Kato said “Roasting marshmallows” (note that he did not say “eating marshmallows”). Alden said, “Sleeping in a tent all night long.”

And I say, spending two days with my family and good friends. I find myself looking for a comical twist, an amusing final line to send you off into your day. But I am overwhelmed by sincerity. It happens sometimes. Unfortunately, you will just have to live with it.