Okay, Homer Simpson might not drool over woodsmoke, but I do. I grew up hiking the Franconia Ridge, Mount Washington, and other parts of the White Mountains of New Hampshire every summer. I look back with fond memories of Greenleaf Hut, Pinkham Notch, Tuckerman's Ravine, Zealand Falls. As I got older, my practice of week-long backpacking trips settled into what I consider luxury or lazy-man camping. This is where you drive into the campsite and go on day-hikes. There's usually a primitive bathroom and sometimes even a shower on site. This way you can fill up half the car with fire-wood and have a campfire every night.
The smell of woodsmoke is deeply embedded into my sensory memory. It carries with it the feeling of being deep in the woods, cultivating an intimacy and trust with nature and with my camping partner. Camping is one of my favorite, favorite, favorite parts of life. Every autumn, I must have a few nights in the Blue Ridge or Smoky Mountains.
That is the feeling with which I made this soap. Granted, every batch I make is a labor of love, but this one makes me swoon just a little bit longer every time I catch a whiff of it. I'm thinking of naming it Midnight in the Woods. I'd like to know what you'd name it though. If I choose your title, I will send you a free bar of this soap. Comments, though moderated, are open to anyone - subscriber or not. Thanks for your input in advance.
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