It is a place under nylon or canvas during a rain, a place cozy dry and warm inside a tent, a place where the crows fly high and caw loudly nearby, a place to hear the voice of Miss Nature as she speaks in the rain and the wind. It is a place known only to a handful of people who have spent their lives outdoors in small tents, a place of security and simplicity, a place anywhere in North America but also at the heart of North America, a place to sit and burn sage and offer tobacco to the spirits of this sacred land. It is felt best inside a primitive shelter and is best symbolized by the simple tent. All the talk of gear and all the talk of places camped and trails walked distills down to the Raven's Yard. It is the altar in the church of Nature.
Fotog taken in 1989 on the AT by Laurel Falls in Hampton, TN. The tent behind was a newly purchased North Face Westwind.