The 18 hour test

IMAG566717 hours, 55 minutes into the adventure.

Staring at the fire pit, now without flames licking towards the sky, Aaron turns to me:

“Are we still married?”

17 hours, 56 minutes.

“Yes, we are still married,” I reply.

Our first camping trial together proved a success. We survived a severe thunderstorm that even folks, from the comforts of their four walls and sealed windows, pointed to as wild and dangerous. During Mother Nature’s powerful display, we laid on our backs, gripped both by fear and the realization thatĀ there was no where else we could go. EvenĀ the three feet to our car felt insurmountable.

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We found the other 17 hours of our camping expedition much more enjoyable (and relaxing). We sat on the banks of Jordan Lake, surveying the boats and birds taking flight; built a fire worthy of s’mores; and mucked on hidden trails, recently turned into swampland.

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Spending such time in nature has a way of washing away the grime that builds up, day in and day out, “living life.” For me, this is living, surrounded in a castle of timbers.

And a New York Times to boot.

And a New York Times to boot.