I don't know how we did it, but Brian and I somehow packed more things into less space for our trip to Allegany State Park (ASP) than for any trip before. We hit the road early in the afternoon, stopped off at McDonald's for lunch, and then Wegmans in Hornell to stock up on food and supplies for the weekend.

About a month ago, we drove this way for Reunion Weekend at Alfred University (AU). This time, other memories were stirred up as we pulled into the grocery store parking lot and noted the AU Saxons shuttle bus waiting patiently on the far side of the building. I recalled my privileged life as a freshman who had a friend with a car. Only once did I ever cram myself and all my grocery bags into a shuttle bus seat. Thereafter, Anthony drove me in his Mercedes. I know. A freshman with a Mercedes? It was awesome.

Brian and I picked up bagels for breakfast, the ingredients for grilled cheese sandwiches, hot dogs, and a few snacks. Then, after another hour and 15 minutes or so, cooler stocked, we arrived at ASP.

At 65,000 acres or 101 square miles, ASP is the largest state park in NY. The park is divided into two areas: Red House in the northeastern region and Quaker in the southwest. The former is named for a nearby town of the same name. Much of the land that belonged to the town of Red House has been absorbed by the park in the decades since its establishment. The latter is named for the Quakers, who immigrated from Europe and colonized the area, originally home to the Seneca people, in the 1700s.

The 1800s were a prosperous time for settlers in Allegany. The logging industry boomed as oil drilling enterprises took off. However, as profitability declined, the state determined that the land should be managed and utilized differently.

On July 30, 1921, ASP opened with "7,150 acres in the heart of today's Quaker Area" (Enchanted Mountains). By the 1930s, campsites had been upgraded from surplus WWII tents to cabins; Science Lake had been established for academic ecological study; and numerous other construction projects were completed, including the Red House Administration Building, Red House Dam, and the creation of Red House Lake.

In 1964, the Quaker Area was improved with the addition of Quaker Lake and more campgrounds. The park now boasts 248 cabins, 53 cottages, and a collective 244.7 miles of hiking, snowmobiling, cross-country skiing, equestrian, bicycle, and multi-use trails.

We checked into our loop and set up at site B19 with only a little trouble. Our tent did not go up as smoothly as it did in Cherry Springs, but go up it did. And it was a good thing, too. Evening came on, and the sun dropped from the sky, landing thunderously somewhere far below the horizon. The trees chattered as a rush of rain raced over the canopy. Lightning strobed silently overhead. Brian and I supposed we ought to take our game of Hnefatafl (huh-NEF-uh-tah-full) inside the tent.

The brooding storm soon relented to a soothing wash of steady rain tapping against the tent canvas. All night, we dreamed to its rhythms and breathed the musk of mud and moss.

This morning, despite the damp of last night's downpour, Brian stoked a fire that held out just long enough for me to toast our bagels.

The forest cried wolf as the foliage frenzied in the breeze, shaking loose last night's rain from the boughs above. We found the edges of the splash zone and laughed. Our site is almost totally surrounded by tall trees and so, as they shook like wet dogs, we stood in the center of our own personal rain shower.

Eventually, the warnings of the woods proved truthful. The campgrounds were perfumed with petrichor as a constant drizzle crackled against broad rhubarb leaves and jagged ferns. Mist twirled up from the ground, coalescing as newborn clouds inching skyward. We finished our breakfast inside the tent.

Brian and I had planned to attend a program about the trio of fire towers in ASP, but alas, our guide was a no-show. As much as we enjoy taking time to unplug, there is a downfall to the lack of instant mass communication. There is no effective way to let patrons know that a program has been canceled. Undeterred, we walked the short path to the Summit Fire Tower on the Ridge Run trail.

The Summit Tower was the first of the three fire towers constructed in ASP in the 1920s. Park patrons brave enough to climb all 100 steps would be greeted at the top by a fire warden and awarded a commemorative card. After their use was discontinued, the towers fell into disrepair. In 1999, however, a restoration committee was formed and ensured that visitors could once again make the daring climb ("Summit Tower").

Along the path to the tower, and bordering the clearing in which it stands, are patches of jewelweed, also known as spotted touch-me-not. This is one of my favorite plants. The fronds are a velvety matte green with scallop-edged leaves. The undersides of its leaves are coated in tiny translucent fibers which, when submerged in water, glitter a stunning moonlight silver color. Crushing the leaves and rubbing the resultant mush against your skin will provide a slight anti-inflammatory effect in case of sunburn, bug bites, or minor stings.

Jewelweed flowers are fiery yellow and orange, often with darker brown-orange spots. The best thing about them, though, is their seed pods. It's a bit late in the season now, but in early summer you'll find jewelweed stems laden with swollen, oblong, lime-green pods. As deer and other critters wander by, they brush against the plant and scatter the seeds. If you want something fun to do that is also intensely satisfying, apply light pressure to the tip of a plump jewelweed pod, and it will burst. You get a free shot of dopamine, and the plant gets to disperse its seeds. Win-win!

Following our visit to the Summit Tower, we stopped off at Stone Tower, which is not, as one might suspect, another fire tower. Stone Tower is another historic landmark within ASP and was constructed as an observation point for the surrounding mountainsides. In 2016, when Brian and I were still in denial that we were dating, he visited me while I was finishing out an internship at ASP, and we took a photo together from the Stone Tower viewing platform. Seven years later, we were right back where the trouble began.

When we returned to our campsite, Brian and I both set about some artistic pursuits. He drew in his sketchbook while I colored some mandala patterns. I don't remember being much of a coloring book kid, but I really enjoy them now. Soon though, the rain returned, and we had to seek shelter in the tent. Even so, we both remarked how relaxing it was to sit and doodle or color and listen to the rain outside. It may have been too relaxing, as we both fell fast asleep soon after it started.

I awoke a little after Brian, around 6 p.m. We debated for a bit about how to spend the evening and what to do for dinner since the fire pit was drenched, and we wouldn't get any cooking done there. We settled on checking out The Clinton, a small bar in nearby Salamanca.

Ultimately, it was what you'd expect from a small bar in a remote country town. The beer selection was adequate, and the food less so. That said, it appeared that, aside from the kitchen staff, the bartender was running the place all on her own. And she was doing a damn good job.

At a table beside us sat a group of college-aged boys discussing their latest weekend bender. A half-empty pitcher of Labatt perched at the end of their table while basket after plastic yellow basket of chicken wings dredged in every kind of sauce was passed around. Admittedly, I thought we were in for a lot of eye-rolling and "Did they really just say that?" I'm happy to report that I was completely wrong.

Our table neighbors were exceedingly polite and had superior taste in music. They fed a seemingly endless stream of dollar bills into the jukebox and selected hits from Korn, System of a Down, and Hinder. Our little millennial hearts were quite satisfied.

After dinner, Brian and I returned to camp for a fire and s'mores. Things had dried out enough, and it burned well for a couple of hours. As the night wound down, we packed our cooler and any potential bear attractants into our site's bear box. We concluded the weekend by wandering around B-Loop admiring the stars peeking between swathes of cloud cover.

Back in our tent, we pulled out our heavy blanket for the first and only time this trip. The persistent precipitation had instilled an unseasonable chill that lay thick over the campgrounds. Say what you will about sunny days, but nothing beats the kind of sleep that comes when frog song fills the night air.