Camp Cook Tells All 



by Edmund Ware Smith . . . decorations by C. H. Roberts 



OLD Wingy Jones used to say: "My idea of heaven is a kitchen 

 with no one in it but me and the cook stove." Wingy was 

 against companionship. He craved privacy in which to cook. 



One spring four of us were tenting on a trout river, and Wingy 

 slipped on a boulder and sprained his ankle. I was elected to stay 

 in camp and do his bidding. It was a privilege to watch him at 

 work. 



Wingy's effortlessness around a campfire was the result of plan- 

 ning. Every pot, dish, and utensil was laid out in advance within 

 easy reach. His pile of selected firewood lay to the left of the fire. 

 In front of the fire, the wind at his back, Wingy sat or kneeled, 

 producing his simple masterpieces without once standing up, 

 moving nothing but his hands. 



When the party was on the move, Wingy's knapsack or pack 

 basket showed the same, fascinating organization. If lunch called 

 for potatoes, canned string beans, broiled trout and tea, those 

 items except the trout, which we were obliged to provide on the 

 spotwere on top of his pack, together with utensils required for 

 their preparation. 



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