I urged my dog along the edge of the woods behind our cabin. One last walk before we packed ourselves in the car with our belongings and took the hour drive home.
The first year we joined the annual camping weekend with our church, I could feel the tension ease with every mile that took me out of the city. Now, it was our third year, and I wanted to savor every last second.
“There sure are a lot of fields out here,” one of my twin boys remarked on our first drive to the camp.
“I know, isn’t it great?” I replied.
“No!”
“What?!”
“You were born in fields, and we were born in the city,” those city boys declared.
“Okay, just to be clear, I was not born in a field. I was born, and the fields were around.”
Fields surrounded by an edge of trees that was my playground. As the dog and I continued along behind the row of cabins, I relished the slow, silent ease until I paused.
Behind this particular cabin stretched a little walking bridge over a creek. I didn’t have my cell phone and had no idea if my family even knew which way I went, but I definitely wanted to cross that bridge. I wanted my final drink of nature to be a good one.
When I saw the Grand Canyon as an adult, I remembered looking out at the expanse and asking my brother-in-law, “Do you think the river really carved out the layers of sediment or did God make something this beautiful just because He could? So we could enjoy it. ”
The bridge over the creek in the woods was not the Grand Canyon, but I sat with my dog for just a minute in the stillness. I listened to the melody of the water and the whispers of the leaves in the trees. I looked up the creek’s path and saw the cottonwood suspended in mid-air.
Why couldn’t God create a moment I couldn’t capture in a photograph, a moment just for me to sit here and enjoy? And how many more could I experience if I just slowed down to notice?
I thought about that bridge and path all year. So much so, I wrote this piece for the prompt “slow” in my monthly library writing group in March. Last month, on our return to camp, I took a little hike. I mentioned it to some other families there, and a group of three moms went.
With no elderly dog to slow us down, we made our way across the bridge, around the mud, and up a steep hill, to the end of the camp property. We were rewarded with a view of the beach from across the lake, and saw our children in miniature working on this year's epic hole. No suspended cottonwood this year, but I’m thankful for the view and a short journey taken with friends.
What are you slowing down to notice in this season?