On the way out of town for the Satanic Temple camping trip this past weekend, I was ecstatic. We don’t leave town ever (last time was last year’s trip), and I only leave the house for doctor’s appointments. But we drove through other towns, open countryside, up mountain roads and along the river, and I drank in all the novelty along with the fresher air.
Arriving at camp, I took a few minutes to commune with the woods. It felt like finally coming home. I was raised in the woods, by hippies, an only child. I understand trees better than people, most of the time. It was so green, so much life spilling over on top of life, mosses of every stripe carpeting the floor and the trees. I felt the stress melting away from me, washed away by the roaring of the river.
There was rain, a soft rain most of the time that fortunately didn’t penetrate our tent. The pain of trying to sleep on the hard ground compounded my existing pain, and I didn’t sleep much, but it was worth being out in the lovely woods, with friends, in our little tent city.
Social interaction is such a limited commodity for me; this weekend spent with my fellow TSTers out in nature filled up all my tanks and renewed me in so many ways. Just the break in my deadening routine helped so much. Coming “home” to the forest and spending time with those I consider my closest family reminded me that life has some really awesome parts along with the pain and struggle. I can’t wait til the next camping trip in September.