The beach house is a wonderful haven where Salmon Camp takes place, and time simultaneously moves slowly and quickly like the tides outside our window.
These tides wax and wane during the course of our day, as does the pace of the kindergarteners and first graders we work with. They live life full speed ahead, and the day passes in the blink of an eye as kids bustle around and get excited over the simplest of things; a salmonberry bush or plane or spruce tip. They move so quickly, but the simplest of tasks present them with some struggle. Some recoil at the idea of washing their hands, and putting on rain gear takes a lot of time and energy. It requires a special kind of mindset, a frenzied patience that must be simultaneously hyper aware of danger and learning opportunities and slowed down to match the pace of little legs and thoughtful minds. But I wouldn't give the chance to learn from them up for the world.
Most nights, the pace of the day is enough to send me to bed right after camp. Some nights, I stay up, and try to fit experiences in that I know I'll be missing when I return home. A bonfire with new friends, a leisurely walk on a piece of land that is sometimes and island, a visit to a place in the woods where a stream rushes through and fishing nets hang above as a makeshift playground.
My favorite thing to do during the evenings, however, is hike. When hiking, you can determine your own pace, and you know when your task is complete. There is a beginning and an end, and the in-between is up to you. You can look down from the top of the mountain and watch as boats move slowly on the open ocean, as your heart beats quickly from the exercise and beautiful view.
At the summit, everything seems smaller. Worries, constraints of time, the roads and cars down below.
These are the lessons that I'll take home with me, the ones I learn in two extremes: a beach house buzzing with kids and parents and energy, and the top of a mountain where everything slows down.
