Crafted for Friday, August 5, 2011
The few hours we’d spend at camp each evening was surely restorative for my Dad. Always happy to take me for a boat ride, Dad and I would head out on the little green boat. I was especially touched, years later, to see he’d named the boat “Anne”, painting my name in big black letters on both sides at its front.
Other times, I was happy to play on my own. While Mom and Dad sat and talked together or watched the loons from the deck chairs, I’d swing on the little swing Dad built for me underneath the deck. Or wearing my straw cowboy hat, I’d play on the little wooden hobby horse he built and set on the beach for me. Nearing sunset, the lake, the beach, and the skies would glow. It was always my favorite time of day. It still is.
I’ve often thought of these times at camp with my Mom and Dad, these few evening hours of serenity we shared at the end of Dad’s work days. I think of how good it was for us all, and how the setting of camp, just 10 minutes from our home in town, was the perfect place for Dad to “get away” from work, a perfect place for him to unwind and to simply appreciate his life with his family. How blessed we all were to have this time together. It’s no wonder to me that the few hours before sunset in the summertime remain so magical to me.