Last weekend we went camping at a nearby lake, and it didn't take me long to notice that something was missing. Figuring out exactly what that something was took a bit longer, however. Soon enough it hit me right between the eyes: silence. Yeah, silence. Growing up, camping was pretty much a peaceful experience. Even last year when I took my daughters camping, there were maybe five other families on the entire lake, and but you would have never known it if you hadn't of seen them. But this past weekend, we drifted to a different lake, and immediately upon coming over the hill and seeing the dozens of boats and jetskis and skiers, I should have known I was in for something different. The environment was more typical of a speedway, and the sounds coming off the lake were more like a racetrack than a gift from God. It wasn't u
ntil well past nightfall that silence began creeping in oh so slowly, and it wasn't until then that I really felt that I was actually camping. Despite all that, I felt a little guilty at how much fun all the noise was. Perhaps times have changed, and I'm slow to accept them. Perhaps I'm holding onto something that's long gone. I still think there's a place for peace and nature to co-exist. In fact, I'm sure of it. But I'm more concerned about myself and my willingness to enjoy that which my heart tells me not to, including noise, crowds, and disturbance. At any rate, camping is still a great time for families to get together on the cheap (no thanks to you Mr. Game Warden wanting more money to pitch a tent), have actual conversations over a fire, and not feel the need to get off to someplace to do something to feel something artificial. On that note, many thanks to Barb for the excellent bacon Sunday morning, to my daughter for riding out the rainstorm with me all of Saturday night in the tent, and to the tent for keeping me dry. Can't wait to do it all again.
Last weekend we went camping at a nearby lake, and it didn't take me long to notice that something was missing. Figuring out exactly what that something was took a bit longer, however. Soon enough it hit me right between the eyes: silence. Yeah, silence. Growing up, camping was pretty much a peaceful experience. Even last year when I took my daughters camping, there were maybe five other families on the entire lake, and but you would have never known it if you hadn't of seen them. But this past weekend, we drifted to a different lake, and immediately upon coming over the hill and seeing the dozens of boats and jetskis and skiers, I should have known I was in for something different. The environment was more typical of a speedway, and the sounds coming off the lake were more like a racetrack than a gift from God. It wasn't u
ntil well past nightfall that silence began creeping in oh so slowly, and it wasn't until then that I really felt that I was actually camping. Despite all that, I felt a little guilty at how much fun all the noise was. Perhaps times have changed, and I'm slow to accept them. Perhaps I'm holding onto something that's long gone. I still think there's a place for peace and nature to co-exist. In fact, I'm sure of it. But I'm more concerned about myself and my willingness to enjoy that which my heart tells me not to, including noise, crowds, and disturbance. At any rate, camping is still a great time for families to get together on the cheap (no thanks to you Mr. Game Warden wanting more money to pitch a tent), have actual conversations over a fire, and not feel the need to get off to someplace to do something to feel something artificial. On that note, many thanks to Barb for the excellent bacon Sunday morning, to my daughter for riding out the rainstorm with me all of Saturday night in the tent, and to the tent for keeping me dry. Can't wait to do it all again. 
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