The gristle of shoreline sand brushing against the lapping lake…A thunderous croak of withered cabin walls..My eyes peek open, and through a screen window, are greeted with the morning dance of tree branches. I can make out images in their display of criss crossing , bending and bark'ed limbs. As I wake I wonder, what is it about camping?
I hardly remember even pouring the coffee that I carry in my cup. Yellow clams polka dot the bottom of the clearest water I know of. Pebbles line the vast shoreline like beaded necklaces. My foot prints trail behind my sand tickled feet. The beach underlines the thick greens of the bush. Rock formations, with colours so unordinary, decorate the island as jewels would a crown. Boats move in harmony with the clouds across the sky. As I march with joy on my journey my mind wanders to then evening ahead. As usual there will be a fires to honour the heavens. Embers will swirl their way up the smoke. The stars will speckle the sky and give way to shooting streaks of silver. Gooey marshmallows will ooze off roasting sticks. Not even the incessant whine and itching poke of mosquitoes could possibly spoil natures comforts. There's just something about camping.
Real beauty is in natures adornment. Pink and pearl stones that drape the lips of islands The twisted pines the poke up from the land shout tales of wicked winds from momentous storms. I remember an image from my earliest child hood memories of a sun faded green canoe zipping past the window of the cabin. I can remember the sweet homely taste of hot chocolate that day. Is that why I still love a good storm?
I quite often find myself going for these walks. I never tire of navigating the island with only my curiosity. When I reach the northerly cliff and absorb the endless portrait of beauty that blankets the horizon I feel as though I can glimpse a remembrance of Eden. Suddenly, I realise that I sit like an ant perched on top of the world. I no longer see cities and roads scab the skin of the earth. I can hear the heartbeat of the waves, and the breath of the air. The farthest away a person can get outside of their I-pod. A smile surfaces.
I am reminded of a time when my roommates and I recorded ourselves jamming. We had decided to form a band and figured we were getting pretty good. Ryan, our singer, held his finger on the button and with a cue we commenced our Rocking! I remember my playing, I was in the zone. My fingers ran up and down the frets with practiced discipline. I remember my roommate, had this awe stricken look on his face and he looked at me and gave me this nod to keep going. Any way, when we played it back afterwards, it was screeching out static, and the symbols were louder then the singing. It didn’t matter that I played really well if we didn't sound good together. This goes back to my point about camping. Sometime you need to step outside and look back in, and that is why camping is so special.