mostly , though , he talks about the wilds and the people who live there , and i lay my head on his chest and close my eyes and dream of it : of a woman everyone calls crazy caitlin , who makes enormous wind chimes out of scrap metal and crushed soda cans ; of grandpa jones , who must be at least ninety but still hikes through the woods every day , foraging for berries and wild animals to eat ; of campfires outside and sleeping under the stars and staying up late to sing and talk and eat , while the night sky goes smudgy with smoke .