The intent was to pitch a tent in the backyard of the Bohemian’s parents’ house for Jeb and his Czech cousin. Not too far from home, but distant enough for two boys to have some adventure.

The canvas tent was old-style. No modern-day, neon-colored brand names splayed across the side walls in mountainous font. It was from an era before all that. A pre-zipper period, even. The door laced closed like a corset, an in-depth process I observed the Bohemian’s mother undertake. It looked so secure and complex I wondered if the boys would ever be able to get out.

But they did.

In fact, due to a multitude of variables, one of which was a nighttime summer thunderstorm, the tent was eventually abandoned for more domestic shelter.

I believe on this morning, the Bohemian was reclining inside, while the world beyond the orange, canvas walls looked idyllic in dawning light.