As this camping trip progresses, I imagine Violet here – sitting cross legged in the tent with her books or her toys, roasting a marshmallow on a stick that’s too long or too short (aren’t they always?), paddling her kayak and watching a nearby loon peer below the surface, deciding whatever it is loons decide when they do that.
But I can’t help imagining all the ways she could hurt herself out here. I shudder at some of the things that pop into my head.
And then I tell myself that there’s just as many dangers at home and in the civilized places around it. Stairs instead of rocks. Dogs instead of bears. Stoves and outlets instead of campfires. Sharp corners and hard surfaces are almost always lurking close by, no matter where we might be.
So, I suppose that my future camping trips with Violet will be better, as well as worse, than those without her; better because she’ll be there to take it all in while I get to watch, and worse because the entire time, I’ll hear that terrified voice, screeching silently in my mind every potential danger in our path. The trips won’t be as relaxing, but I’m betting they will be more memorable.
246 days old
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