my mom dragged me to a campground last week for a nature journaling club (basically a convention of old ladies who thought they were hilarious). i’ve been there many times before, with ahg and cub scouts, and for a renaissance fair and jousting tournament.
i roamed around the campground and hiked up to an overlook while my mom was at the club. i am in love with wandering off by myself and just thinking. i think there’s a word for that: solivagant. it’s a nice word. i wish i sounded like it.
my mom is an artist. she’s kind of ok, i guess.
i found a dying bouquet by the base of the cliffs. it made me sad. that might be one of the worst kinds of sadness: seeing something that makes you ache, but not knowing why it makes you feel that way.
there’s a tiny cave in one of the cliffs. there were enormous crickets on the ceiling. gross.
people have scratched words into the rocks up at the lookout. i like searching for things other than initials.
because if you’re going to deface nature, you may as well be polite about it.
while i was hiking up to the outlook, a group of girls with a puppy passed by. it was chubby and white and basically a puffball of light and joy. it was one of the softest things i’ve ever touched.
yellow flowers are a gift. thanks, God.
it was getting pretty hot, so i made my way over to the river, planning to wade. but the river was gone?? somehow?? so i took pictures of the wildflowers growing on the bank instead.
i’ve had my converse for almost two years and they’re falling apart. i need new ones. they’re not as bad as my last pair yet (i could peel back half of the sole on those ones), but they’re getting there. i’ve managed to rip a hole in the heel because i got one shoe stuck in a door, the laces are fraying, the rubber on the sides are coming off, and they’re stained red from the mud at my camp‘s shooting range.
these tiny daises are one of my favorite flowers.
idk what this means, but i like it.
i’m still angry about my river disappearing. it’s like part of my childhood evaporated. darn you, water cycle.
i have good memories of this place: murder in the dark in the rain, muddy ultimate frisbee, guitar around the campfire, splashing around in the river, biking through enormous puddles, playing cards with my best friend in our tent. it’s rained literally every time i’ve gone camping there, but i don’t really mind.
nostalgia tints everything gold.