When the cows (and campers) come home

An intriguing moment of our camping trip was the decision to come home a day early. Usually in BC that means that you're sick of being wet and cold, or tired of the crowded sites, or want to escape the other family you're with, or really crave a bath and a home-cooked meal. None of the above for us.

The trip had been perfect, and still was. We'd woken up that morning to chipmunks raining pine cones down onto our Peaceful oceanside campsite, then taken the kids fishing, exploring tide pools and jumping rocks. I'd had my cleansing morning skinny-dip, diving in off of Dinner Rock. Hot oatmeal filled our bellies and cinnamon buns were ready for the morning hike to a 200-year-old tree. We were deep into the groove of being together, being away from work and farm and hurry, just deep into Being.

Then, quiet and sure as a sunrise, the Knowing came that another day wouldn't add anything. We didn't need another day of Bliss; the trip was perfect right where it was. And just as miraculous as that Knowing, all 7 of us - big and small - had the wisdom to honour it and go home.

The result was a final day of calm, carrying with us the inner beauty and connection we'd built up over 5 days. An extra day of rest and togetherness before setting off on the next adventure (kids at "Camp Grandma Dia", us at home without kids for 5 days). And home just in time to once again wrangle an escaped cow back into the pasture and re-build the fence (but that's another story).

These days I'm trying to listen to my body before taking a second helping of dinner or dessert; to be completely satisfied and full with a first kiss; to be able to pick just one juicy strawberry. Applying this lesson to a camping trip was an utter and delightful surprise, and the perfect ending to a perfect trip.