Someday Honey, You’ve Got To Come Back Down

Consistently inconsistent seems to be who I am, and sometimes that’s okay.  I left summer camp and cried the whole way home, reminiscent of the time I spent.  I was terrified to go home, terrified to go back to my responsibilities and the unknown.

Camp was predictable, I was up at the same time and went through the same routine.  I took out trips and they followed a schedule, they met certain expectations.  Surrounded by beauty and happiness for 3 months, my mind changed, my expectations changed.  Leaving camp I was sad that I wouldn’t see the same faces, wouldn’t have the conversations, wouldn’t have the screaming laughter and singing to carry me through the rough days.  I cried for myself, in the most selfish way, I cried that I would no longer have those things to help me cope and to forget about the bad that happens around me. Camp was my most welcome distraction, even when it was most exhausting.  Camp was my refuge.

I sit at my desk, in my thrown together office that doesn’t quite seem like home.  I think of the places I have gone, the things I have done.  I feed the dogs and wash the dishes as I daydream of places that are not so far away.

Life is different at camp, life is different in the woods.  I cling to it, not wanting to completely come down just yet – knowing that I need to.  I live in the most eco-diverse place in the world, and the closer I get to it, the more I absolutely yearn for it.  I laughed when I got the camp job, my friends called me a hippie, but I don’t laugh now.  I was changed at camp, wanting to learn something new I learned something new about myself.

Luke 5:16 Your soul needs the wild

As I sit here and stare out my window there is no doubt that my soul is wild.

Homecoming

The decrease in elevation, even this little of a change, always has a profound impact on my mood.  I left camp today for a short break in my summer, returning home to the lower ground, missing the mountains almost as soon as they were out of sight. The drive home is less than spectacular, crossing state lines to sand and long needle pine trees, I watch in my rearview as the mountains slowly disappear.  But I drive closer to home, closer to the three dogs I’ve left for the summer, closer to my SO who supported my decision all along, closer to my home – although it lay a mess from a recent fire – and my warm, comfortable bed.  I’m giddy, and the drive takes longer as I fight anticipation.

My homecoming is not unlike the one I have after each trip, anticipating the comfort of a real bed and a warm shower. While I’m out the trail consumes me, immersing myself in my trip I enjoy it completely, but the closer I get to home the more I long for the everyday comforts of home.  I love camp, I love the mountains that I get to stay in, and the whole time I am there I am completely immersed, swallowed by the magic.  But the closer I get to home – or my day off – the more I miss it, and the conveniences.

So tonight I will cuddle in my bed, and gladly lose my spot to one of my dogs.  I will stand a little too long in my shower enjoying the consistent water temperature and pressure.  I will childishly demand his attention the entire time I am home.  And when it’s time for me to leave, I’ll be somber and homesick.  But I will return to the mountains, and my heart will be full in a different way.