I Don’t Mind Hauling my Tent

The morning already shines brightly on the marsh this late August morning; small birds dart on the close cut channels, tall reeds sway in the slight breeze. The final week of a summer, most would probably say, gone by in a blink and full of hard news and troubling times all juxtaposed with the small-not-small annoyance of the local grocery chain saga here in New England. With so much life at stake in other places, why can’t these folks work it out?

But today I return to the train car carrying my small red borrowed tent, just in from a week camping with students and staff in Yellowstone. It would take volumes to convey the beauty and grandeur of such a marvelous place. Steam rises from bubbling mudpots next to cold, fast moving streams, ones where anglers dare to dream they will tie the fly and catch their catch. Mountains, meadows, valleys, rocks of the ancient Earth pushed up to meet a changing sky; it is a place that had to be protected, and so it was by the explorations and senses of men of a different time.

We all know that each season and location has its own beauty. Sometimes we need practiced eyes and an open mind to see something greater than what we expect to see. As I catch up on the news, I hope all of us will soon see peace where there seems to be none, and stability where much of life itself is not protected but destroyed. Right now I am fortunate to be able to close my eyes and see in my mind’s eye the vistas I just left. This is gift but I want more. I want more lands protected so that others may see, and I want them, the others, alive and able to see them.


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