I pulled into the campground late, the last light fading behind the trees. It wasn’t anything fancy—just a fire ring, a picnic table, and a patch of dirt for my tent. But out here, that was all I needed.
As the fire crackled and the stars emerged, I watched other campers settle in—families laughing over marshmallows, solo travelers lost in thought, hikers resting tired legs. A campground is more than just a place to sleep; it’s a crossroads, a temporary home where strangers share the same night sky.
By morning, some would pack up and move on, leaving only footprints and cooled embers. But for one night, in this small corner of the wilderness, we were all connected by the simple need for shelter, warmth, and the open air.
What’s the most memorable campground you’ve ever stayed at?