This is turning into a two-part post because I have too many photos to share and we’re all visual people here.
I am freshly returned from a camping trip in upstate New York to Wilcox Memorial Park. This sprawling park boasts over 8 miles of hiking trails, bucolic campsites, a beach (which was closed due to blue-green algae) and at least three disc-golf courses, depending on the time of year. We camped for a work-week on the edge of a cliff overlooking the lake and were very fortunate to have no neighbors in adjacent sites for most of our stay.
Why do we go on vacation? Many would say it’s to recharge from our day-to-day grind that wears us down into numb little nubs. The daily exhaustion of working, managing personal finances, socializing, exercising, maintaining one’s physical appearance to modern standards can all be a bit much to do every day. Camping for many, boils existence down to much more primitive concerns like “how will I stay dry tonight,” and “what was that noise in the bushes?” It’s a hard reset, in some ways.
When I go camping I like to leave a lot of time for doing nothing. Existing outdoors is the activity. Sleeping in the open air, eating, staying warm and keeping my feet dry–that is the fun and the only priority. In that lack of superficial distractions, no inputs but from my physical body and the birdsong, after a few days, the creative urge returns, simple and new.
Without my calendar staring at me, without advertisements telling me what to want, without any deadlines or other creatures to keep alive besides myself, I feel ready to express that I am alive by making a little something.
This may all sound quite directionless, but actually I do go into a vacation with certain creative goals. Usually a book, and specific art making materials to engage in two or three creative exercises while I’m feeling clear and expansive in nature. It can sometimes be hard to make things for the joy of it when life is busy; camping, meditation retreats, technology diets, for me at least, seem to help.
I’m going to tell you a story about saving a bird’s life, skip it, or read on, and come back next week for more of what I made on vacation in the woods besides the sketches already featured in this post. Day one we were canoeing on the Housatonic River, following various birds downstream. We’d stopped for lunch for about twenty minutes when all of a sudden we heard a little blue heron screaming from the opposite bank. At first it seemed like he’d caught something larger than he or she could handle but it was soon evident that the bird was stuck.
Our first thought was trash or fishing line, so we packed up lunch in a hurry and made off for the opposite bank, confirming that I had my knife on me in transit. By the time we reached the bird he’d given up on life, no longer fighting to escape whatever had him stuck in the mud. Closer than anyone should get to a wild animal, yes, Jake fished around with his paddle trying to find the bird’s foot and discovered that an enormous snapping turtle, the size of a large backpack had the bird’s foot. Jake prodded the turtle from below as we started to tell ourselves that this was the circle of life and it’s very sad but this bird might be a goner. Then all of a sudden, by the annoying insistence of the paddle, the turtle let go!! The bird limped away and paused. He stared at us for a few seconds as we urged him to move further away from the turtle if he could. Seconds ago we were inches from this bird who now realized we were trying to help. After a few moments of silent thanks, he stood up, walked, and then flew to another perch on the bank! His foot might hurt, but it seemed like he could fly and stand just fine.
We felt like heroes and we carried that feel-good victory with us all week. We did consider that we’d robbed that turtle of his lunch, but when considering the intelligence and feeling of each animal, even though I love turtles, I’m glad we saved the one capable of such an emotional scream. Also the very real possibility that the bird was stuck in human garbage meant that intervening was never not an option. I’ll think about that bird again, I know.
