Camping is something I love, because of memories of past camping trips with my wonderful family, because of getting out beyond the highways and stripmalls, getting into a lake that is calm, surrounded by firm pine trees.
Out in those campgrounds I usually do a lot of thinking. Unless some yahoo blasts his dumb radio late into the night (it's happened before, but this year I know how to use a gun). The glory of getting up with the sun, and doing whatever you want all day, then going to bed when it is dark. That's when I think of how it used to be. I think of Almanzo Wilder and Laura Ingalls as kids. I think of when they rarely stayed up till 10 at night, unless they have a surprise visit from Mr. Edwards on Christmas Day.
I remember being taught about plants; flowers and trees. In the water, we would snorkle and see what little there was to see, following tiny minnows, diving for shiny rocks and objects. My Dad taught me to snorkle, to not fear trusting a plastic tube to breathe through while my head is under water. We would also take short walks around the perimeter of the water, climb over big rocks going uphill, and stand to take in the view. We were taught to keep our eyes and ears open, and our mouths shut.
I certainly don't think little of our heated, warm, lighted home. But I do love to get out of it, to try to live without all that just for fun. And when I get back, I can appreciate it all the more.
2 comments:
What a lovely post! You're a great writer, Liz!
terrific post, Liz. Very lovely. Nate Wilson might even give it a passing grade. :-)
I love what you said about what all your Dad has taught you. That's great. I tend to do a lot of thinking when I go camping, too. When I go with my grandparents, I like staring off into space while sitting around the campfire and thinking about "stuff." And I like tromping off in the woods, talking to myself and enjoying the quiet. It's a nice change of pace and atmosphere.
Hope ya'll have a great time!
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