Camp Coffee:
Coffee Three Ways

July 14, 2017 // By Lottie Caiella

Coffee Three Ways
Mom, hazelnut flavored coffee brewed in a plastic pour-over. The scoops of buttery coffee grounds are mini mountains, sitting fluffy in the filter. This process is practical, brewed for immediacy, concentrated. The yield, though in a single mug, is generous. A cup, just for her, telling of scents she smelled as a child.
Dad, a gurgling brewer set up last night, flicked on this morning before the chill left the air. He is up with the dog and no one else, and this pot, his ceremony. His coffee is like a well, designed to keep flowing. The brewer takes several minutes to fill, and hours to drink—it is his own private silence. Like a pipe of tobacco, Dad’s coffee is more a journey than a place, and by the time we wake, he has traveled quite far, paddling alone on a coffee canoe of solitary bliss.

For us, the day predicates the coffee. If we awake to a roasting tent, plump with morning sun, we filter out the large jar of cold brew from the cooler which was steeped with brown sugar and cinnamon, mixing with cream and imbibing quickly before everything begins. If the air is a cool blanket, heavy and hugging, we may sleep a little longer, then percolate our caffeine as we resurrect last night’s fire.
Camp coffee is the best coffee as its ordinary methods, habits are illuminated in the thick woods, on the coast, or by the lake. Ordinary becomes extraordinary atop the mountain; normal, now special. The woods are more hospitable than any other place, giving us the gift of seeing plainly.
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