Today’s the last full day at Family Camp here in Idaho. To commemorate the day, all work crews were given the day off (though two die hard men hung sheet rock in cabins and wired the indoor kitchen) and two excursions were planned.
Half of our number climbed a mountain. My husband was one of them, along with his Idaho cousin who served as the guide, and a passel of teens and young adults who don’t know any better than to risk their lives in such vertical pursuits.
The more reasonable among us piled into three cars and drove to an old growth cedar forest about 45 minutes away. We took a horizontal hike through a virgin forest. The further we went, the smaller we felt. The trees were massive and the forest floor absorbed our words. A hush fell upon us as we passed trees so ancient they were old when Native American tribes first walked through them.
The hike was good for me. This past week, what with sleeping in a tent and watching the younger crowd race around with more energy than they have any right to possess, I began to feel old. But an hour in the forest was all it took to regain a proper perspective. Compared to those cedar trees, I’m a spring chicken and pretty light on my feet. Once again, life is good.
Proper perspective is a wonderful thing.
