Camp is my happy place. My peaceful zone. When I listened to meditation tapes in preparation for an unmedicated labor I used camp as my place to visualize. It didn’t work, unfortunately, because that was really really painful you guys, but this place is such an escape. It’s the nostalgia of my childhood with the peace of nature with the joy of watching my dogs and kids be truly free here. It’s fresh air and clean water and quiet.
Where you are from camp means ‘sleep in a tent’ or ‘go to summer camp’ but where I’m from it means head out to a cottage or cabin in the woods and wear your old clothes and forget about shampoo and read dusty books and sleep at odd hours. It means checking for ticks but not being bothered by it, it means eating a lunch of watermelon and potato chips, making s’mores and digging for worms that we will probably not use to catch any fish.
All of these photos are unaltered. #nofilter, as the kids are saying these days. Because camp has no need for filters. It’s as beautiful as it was 100, 200, 500 years ago. We make our footprint here but feel more conscious of tiptoeing on this piece of Earth than on any other.
If you set a rescue dog from the desert and a gypsy child from everywhere lose in these woods you can see the way these creatures were MEANT to live. So free. So dirty. So curious. So brave. So very very happy.
I always love the me I am at camp. In my most comfortable clothes with my barest face and my barest feet and my bare soul drinking it all in. With a baby on my back. So I’m all of the aforementioned plus quite sweaty. Always so sweaty.
We were raised by a a middle class country kid turned hippie who married a working class city girl turned hippie who brought us here as much as is humanly possible in the schedule of working people with busy children. And they taught us to use this place to practice creativity and to catch-and-release creatures smaller than us, to shoot guns but only at milk jugs, to soak up the silence so we can appreciate urban sounds.