Blue knit hats and starlight: A brief journal entry on camping

We stood on the side of a hill overlooking a valley. In this valley was a winding stream zigzagging across the valley floor, nourishing the long grasses, the wildflowers, and the various wildlife that came to call in this peaceful little place. Surrounding this valley were pine and aspen trees that had thrived for generations of human years and would thrive long after we left their shadows. This place welcomed the silence, even as the stream gurgled in contentment, and we sat side by side engrossed in our appreciation for this previously unknown realm, and how lovely it was to finally sit surrounded by a world separate from the one we had left behind.
We set up camp shortly after arriving at Lizard Head Campground- though the word campground was a misnomer. It was more of a hiking trail just off the highway, which over time, had morphed into a campsite for those who had shown up too late in the day to get the more ideal locations. But, through some stroke of luck, the last available patch of ground in a grove of trees was ours, and for a night, we called it home. Following a little hiking trail just East of our tent, we entered into a grove of pine trees and a bed of new grass. Two deer spotted our arrival, and taking umbrage, immediately decided to surrender the area to us.
Meandering slowly, we were silent, grateful for the muffled sounds of nature that seemed to welcome our arrival, as if to say, “we have waited for you all day, you need this, come and take quiet with us.”
Later, we fell asleep to the sound of various conversations around us, of cars driving up and down the highway, and found that these human sounds, too, gave us contentment. It was a cold night, and the morning’s freshness was almost overwhelming after the city’s stifling asphalt smells. Jake was up early and had already wandered various areas of our campsite. His slow-swinging, ground-covering gait easily visible in my mind. He would likely occasionally stop to watch a bird fly away, turn around to glory in his surroundings, his blue knit cap (the one I knitted him in fact) keeping his ears warm, his blue vest keeping his heart warm until he could find his way back to me. It never stops bringing me joy to see him walking towards me, his smile as he sees me impatiently waiting for breakfast and coffee.
For some reason, good fortune was on our side, because the next campground we tried was Sunshine, just North of our original site, and we managed to stumble upon the only remaining tent-friendly spot in the area at nine in the morning. Setting up was relatively uneventful, and the weather held until after we finished this usually tedious, albeit rewarding, process, and a drizzle commenced shortly after. The rain was not much of a barrier between us an exploration. As such, we set out for our first real hike of the trip, and since I had yet to equip myself with all of the appropriate gear, I used Jake’s old rain jacket to keep out the moisture as we went. It was beautifully quiet the farther we went into the dense aspen trees. Soon I could hear little else besides the sound of our breathing, footsteps trodding earth that had been felt by so many before us, and the occasional flutter of a bird startled from its perch by our sudden approach. It was rewarding to move with no motive, aside from what lay beyond the next curve. Eventually, though, my new hiking shoes got the better of me, and my left foot began to feel the sharp pangs of a ruptured blister, and it was time to head back.
There are few things more comforting than arriving at a temporary new home and beginning the age-old process of making dinner over a campfire, naturally while drinking a well-deserved glass of cabernet. The rest of the weekend was a peaceful passing of cozy nights under layers of down, rain-chilled mornings, fire-side conversations, goodbyes. And, my favorite part, lunch with family in a breathtaking corner of Rico, Colorado- a place where humanity had gently settled in, and could quickly depart without leaving hardly a trace of existence in their wake.
It is shockingly easy to forget there is a whole world ready to be explored when we focus so laboriously on our life’s worries, complaints, little pieces of annoyance. Not to diminish those worried at all because they are there, and they truly matter. Sometimes, though, what we need is a step back from complications, to take the time to find that center inside that makes a person who they are (the one we sometimes forget exists). By leaving my home for a short time and creating a temporary new one, I realized my problems were still my problems no matter where I travel or how hard I try to forget. Despite that, it is comforting to know that no matter how difficult life becomes, there is always a campsite waiting for a visit from my love and I.

Until next time.

Whitney