A visit to Hornet Lookout

I sat on a fold out wooden chair that had to be older than my grandfather and admired all the artifacts people had left behind — a ripped deer stuffed toy, a philosophy book, mismatched pans blackened by years over the flame, a can of Coke someone left as a treat for the next visitor. Then there were the old old things, a crate marked “flour and sugar, etc.,” that in my mind was carried up by mules back in the day, a handmade table and ladder. The room smelled like Pine-Sol. I slept on a cot that had held countless strangers.