"To those Shenandoah Hills"
This weekend we are going camping.
Camping kind of stinks with kids. I will be the first to say this. They get dirty . . . really, really dirty. They like the IDEA of the tent, but not the SLEEPING part. They have to be taken to pee all the time. They poop in their pull-ups, or pants or anywhere that you can't possibly clean them sufficiently. They require you to pack way more in extra accessories, like little potties, and 10 changes of clothes, and pacifiers, and baby carriers, and pack and plays, and first aid kits, and wipes, wipes and more wipes. They wake up at 5:00 in the morning, there is always a creek or rocks or poison ivy or something to pose a extra hazard, not to mention the fire. They don't eat when you want them to and are starving five seconds later . . . wait, that's how they are all the time. Did I mention how dirty they get??
Nevertheless, there is something magic about camping, something that brings us back year after year. For me, there is a quiet, a peace that settles in when I have nowhere to go and no schedule to follow and just the mountains and the trees and surround me. And amidst the bug bites and the smoky food, I just have to raise my eyes to God's beauty, to really see it and to praise him.
I'm looking forward to the crisp smell of morning air mixed with the smell of a wood fire.
I'm looking forward to the time spent with friends. I love it when the shadows grow and the glow of a fire links a circle of us against the night.
I will look with pleasure on the rosy cheeks of my girls as I watch them spend time in the woods. I will think of how I grew up in the woods, well-acquainted with the ways of trees and underbrush, rocks and creeks, making some of my most enduring childhood memories there.
And I'm hoping for songs around the campfire too, those ones that somehow speak to something deeper and sweeter inside of me, like maybe this one:
Oh, the stars they did shine the night you swore that you'd be mine
And you promised always to be true, to be kind
On that Shenandoah hill where our love burned until
I went away and left those promises behind
And when I rise from the timberline
and call your name, will you remember mine?
And the sweetest kiss will be the ties that binds
Like the wild, wild rose and the columbine.
To that place I will go where the wildflowers grow
With a ribbon in my hair and a gown of calico
To those Shenandoah hills, I'll go back, I swear I will
To the sweetest kiss my lips will ever know.
And when I rise from the timberline
and call your name, will you remember mine?
And the sweetest kiss will be the ties that binds
Like the wild, wild rose and the columbine.
--Emmy Lou Harris
Camping kind of stinks with kids. I will be the first to say this. They get dirty . . . really, really dirty. They like the IDEA of the tent, but not the SLEEPING part. They have to be taken to pee all the time. They poop in their pull-ups, or pants or anywhere that you can't possibly clean them sufficiently. They require you to pack way more in extra accessories, like little potties, and 10 changes of clothes, and pacifiers, and baby carriers, and pack and plays, and first aid kits, and wipes, wipes and more wipes. They wake up at 5:00 in the morning, there is always a creek or rocks or poison ivy or something to pose a extra hazard, not to mention the fire. They don't eat when you want them to and are starving five seconds later . . . wait, that's how they are all the time. Did I mention how dirty they get??
Nevertheless, there is something magic about camping, something that brings us back year after year. For me, there is a quiet, a peace that settles in when I have nowhere to go and no schedule to follow and just the mountains and the trees and surround me. And amidst the bug bites and the smoky food, I just have to raise my eyes to God's beauty, to really see it and to praise him.
I'm looking forward to the crisp smell of morning air mixed with the smell of a wood fire.
I'm looking forward to the time spent with friends. I love it when the shadows grow and the glow of a fire links a circle of us against the night.
I will look with pleasure on the rosy cheeks of my girls as I watch them spend time in the woods. I will think of how I grew up in the woods, well-acquainted with the ways of trees and underbrush, rocks and creeks, making some of my most enduring childhood memories there.
And I'm hoping for songs around the campfire too, those ones that somehow speak to something deeper and sweeter inside of me, like maybe this one:
Oh, the stars they did shine the night you swore that you'd be mine
And you promised always to be true, to be kind
On that Shenandoah hill where our love burned until
I went away and left those promises behind
And when I rise from the timberline
and call your name, will you remember mine?
And the sweetest kiss will be the ties that binds
Like the wild, wild rose and the columbine.
To that place I will go where the wildflowers grow
With a ribbon in my hair and a gown of calico
To those Shenandoah hills, I'll go back, I swear I will
To the sweetest kiss my lips will ever know.
And when I rise from the timberline
and call your name, will you remember mine?
And the sweetest kiss will be the ties that binds
Like the wild, wild rose and the columbine.
--Emmy Lou Harris
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