I went camping. Nay, I went camping for the first time. I mean, I slept in a tent in Uganda (but that was out of desperation: the house we were supposed to sleep in was locked from the inside by a very deep sleeper on the night we arrived) and I slept in a tent at Cannon Beach (but during the day we stayed in my friends’ beach house) but I have never truly camped.
John found us a trail (not a road – a trail) that was off the beaten path that was off the beaten path. We pitched the tents nestled in the blackberry bushes, surrounded by mountain ridges, and alongside the mountain stream. That stream eventually channels into the Lake of Silver Lake Provincial Park, but our delight was in the wilderness, the isolation, the complete nothingness of that glorious gurgling creek.
I hung my brand new hammock between two trees, snuggled up with a book, and lost myself in the mesmerizing dance of leaves and trees and streams and breeze. Not much reading happened, despite my complete enjoyment of Bittersweet by Shauna Niequist.
I read a page, watched the trees. Read a page, played in the creek. Read a page, swayed with the wind.
Somehow, I read a third of the book . . . but that’s almost impossible to believe with how much I didn’t read while being distracted by all the nothingness.
We may not look like five-year-old, freckle-faced, gap-toothed little boys . . . but somewhere, somehow, that’s who we became while tossing pebbles into the stream and slamming boulders through the air to make bigger-and-bigger splashes.
I’m not sure when my next camping adventure will be (with three weddings in the next four weeks, my weekends are packed!), but you can be sure: I’ll be out there just as fast as my jam-packed Google Calendar will allow.