Pipeno Launch Contest

A Passion of My Own

On a rock in the middle of the river I sat; I did not know why nor did I care, it was the last day I would be here and I did not want to leave. I stared up at the sky with its large puffy clouds floating along at their own pace, no cares, no destination, way up there time did not exist, I wished I was with of them. Searching for the sun in that great big expanse of blue above me but finding that only a few rays had reached up over the tree tops so far, it was early but I had been awake for some time. My things were packed up and I am physically ready to leave and had been that way for half an hour already, but, I am not mentally ready to leave, I don’t know if I’ll ever be.
This campground should be the eighth wonder of the world, it was beautiful, around each bend you saw something new and more beautiful then the last. Every plant was untouched by the cruel hands of pesticides and herbicides, and with the exception of the worn paths through the woods this place left no trace of human existence. Sitting in the middle of the forest by yourself all you hear is what nature intended, not the roar of cars driving in the distance, not the bellow of a plane flying by over head, not even the low rumble of a train beating its metal wheels against the tracks far off somewhere, nothing artificial, just the chirping of birds, the ever-constant rippling of water over rocks, and leaves crunching under the feet of some invisible creature nearby.
Some city goers consider it weird and chilling to the spine, but this, this is my home, my peaceful haven, saved by the earth for the taking of whomever decides to notice. Mother Earth gives us so much, without wanting anything in return, but all we do is destroy this wonderful creation that she has spent millions of years developing, just for us.  It sickens me.
I tend to get weird about goodbyes. Once I say them I don’t like to say them again. Last night I had had bade farewell to all whom I had wished, now it was time to say goodbye to this wondrous campground. Reluctantly, I stood up from my perch on that rock, and then began walking to the rocky shore. My skirt brushed the surface of the water and I watched as her slender fingers laced themselves through the small spaces within the fabric that were so small the naked eye could not see them, but the water knew the path well. The color instantly changed, going from a dim red to almost black. I leaned over and dipped my hands in; cupping them, I lifted my  small pool to my face and rubbed it all over. I wanted to be a part of this moment; I wanted to take it with me.  I paused still and let myself feel the crisp, cool liquid make its way around my shins.  The stream was determined to make a path through me; however, my skin was even more determined not to let it.
I was brought back to reality when I heard the low grumble of a Volkswagon engine making its way up that rocky excuse of a road. I did not want to hear it, I did not want to acknowledge the fact that this glorious week was coming to an end. I wanted to do everything one more time, just once, because when this was over I had to accept the fact that I would not be experiencing any of it again for an entire year. I would miss seeing around three-hundred other faces smiling while enjoying the same things I was, I would miss the laughter, the constant mumble of cheerful voices chatting amongst each other, I would miss the sweet mountain scent of clover and honeysuckle directly after a rain, I would miss falling asleep to the sound of the river gliding over rocks no more than five feet away from where I lay my head, and waking to the excited chatter of birds with the first rays of sun in the mornings. I would miss it all.
Now reaching the shore I gingerly put my flip-flops back on. On the edge of the river I stared amazed at some stones that someone had taken the time to balance in the most complex of ways, I could not help but think of how much patience and focus each of the towers must have taken. There had to be at least a dozen, maybe more.
Another Volkswagon was coming up the path.
It was not even nine o’clock and already the people kept rolling out, and leaving their memories behind. With my things packed I could have been one of them, but no, not yet. I was enjoying my last few moments in paradise. So many of my non-camping friends ask me what the big deal is; I respond the same way every time, staring deeply into their eyes, I pause, then I say “You have to be there, then you’ll understand. The people there aren’t just hippies or friendly faces, they are family, each and every one of them has their place in our small traveling community, and they all deserve it too.”  The moment I began camping I knew it was the only thing for me, it was a passion, becoming almost an addiction as time passed, I love each second that I spend out there in nature, my escape; my home is out in the trees where at night the only light is from the stars and moon. Yes, you can see the stars; and if you watch for long enough, you see a comet speed across that wide open canvas of blackness with its small specks of a lighter color shining through from some unnamed distance . To me, beauty exists only in the most natural of forms.
I took the last slow steps to my campsite and found that the bus was running, which meant that I had to leave. I opened the passenger side door ever so unwillingly, and climbed into the seat which gave a little at my addition. With my door shut my dad pressed this foot against the gas petal and began rolling out of our site. Leaving it behind. I had come to the realization that week that coming home from camping is like taking down the Christmas tree; the only difference is that, while we are leaving I have to tell myself not to cry.
Normally, the ride out was a short one. Traveling up and down that mile of splendid land as much as I had that week I would be the one to know. However, this last ride out seemed to take forever, which wasn’t a bad thing at all. It gave me more time to look out my window as we passed by each stone and tree, I noticed things that I hadn’t before, like a spider that had made its web by the peaks of some curled up leaves or a branch that had fallen off of a near by tree. As we emerged into the bright grassy swales of the electric sites and out of the shady depths of primitive I realized how many people had already left, over night that sea of white fiber glass pop-tops had practically disappeared. A few buses still lingered, for they had not quite finished packing or were doing the same thing that I had been just moments before. Already some tents had popped up in the sites that were occupied by buses no less than an hour ago. This was saddening to me, it almost seemed like we did not exist, there was hardly a trace of our week of festivities.
Coming to the end of electric we went back into a dimly lit wooded area. On the left of this narrow path was a steep ledge that plunged about twenty feet and into the river. On the other side the mountain sloped upward, trees grew with a slant in their trunks and they grew so thickly that there wasn’t even enough light for underbrush to grow along the forest floor.
We were not alone on this long ride out, two buses followed us and we followed two others. I cringed at the thought that we would be parting with them in a very few moments. I dreaded the moment when there were no more buses in sight, that was when the campout really ended. Each twist and turn brought us a little closer to that dreadful moment. We had reached the office when my dad got out to pay, how anybody could put a price on such an extravagant experience, especially when it is only seven dollars a night, I  did not know. While we were stopped I watched several people drive out, leaving me behind.
My dad opened his door and began driving off. Looking out of my window some employee’s smiled and waved at us, they had a reason to smile; they got to stay.  We finally passed the sign that said: “Welcome to Twin Rivers Family Campground” in crude hand painted cursive letters.  To me this meant we had left the campground, I could still see it, smell it, hear it, but we had left. We would not be returning for another three-hundred and sixty-five days. I lifted up my book and opened it to the last page I had read, I was almost finished but still had around thirty pages to go, I needed something to distract me from the pain that radiated from somewhere deep inside my chest. I needed to thrust myself into some alternate reality where I would not have to think of anything except for the typed words on a slightly yellowed page. The drive ahead would be long and full of time to think so I tried to ignore everything else and just read.

"Lydia," I told myself, "don’t cry".