Stelliferous Stories

There is a hut in the southeast corner of Philmont Scout Ranch where you can relax, spread out your (nearly toxic) clothes, and gather with other wandering teams of equally tired and smelly teens to tell stories and crack their voices together in song. It’s a holy place in my memory, shrouded in stars and smoke and significance, as all the best scouting memories always are.

Plus, we heard they had popcorn.

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