There is a slow itch that starts to build under my skin. The need to be outside. It's not until I drag myself into the woods that I finally feel content and calm. Westport was beautiful, cold, and quiet. There's a different kind of summer in the northwest. The air is damp and crisp. The wind bites at your ankles. Never too hot. Never too cold. Always just right.
I’ve never been camping. I was in Girl Scouts forever ago, but we slept in sleeping bags in a well constructed cabin. There were bathrooms. We deep fried doughnuts over a little Coleman propane stove. It was a weekend of me and my ten year old peers complaining about bugs.
This last weekend still included complaining about bugs, but it was a small price to pay for finally getting off the grid. I have previously dismissed the fact that I was so plugged into technology. My mind was tired from going, going, going. I didn't realized this until I completely, and abruptly, stopped.
It wasn't like I was doing anything all that important. I sat in a camp chair on a river for hours and stared out at the water. I made fires. I cooked simple, honest food. I read a book about trout fishing and explored the forest. Everything seemed clearer and slower.
I simply allowed myself to be.