I am intrigued, yet saddened by our most recent camp spot. (See my previous post about the meaning behind this photo project.) After picking up trash bags worth of crap from this site, including burned shoes, bottles, diapers, metal chair parts, shell casings and tin cans, it was actually quite nice. Well used, but not well loved, my husband and I tried to make it better.  The past few weeks, I feel I have been inadvertently training my eye to catch all the little trails of history people have left in the trunks of the trees at these sites. How, for example, did I ever find a small nail, holding what appears to be old wires in a tree facing the river, not even near to where someone might put up a tarp, tent or even festive lights? Why is this even there? I can’t really blame boredom for some of the peoples’ actions, although I guess I did a fair amount of mucking about in my teenage years. I still don’t ‘get’ vandalism, or really even leaving trash anywhere. I admit, sometimes I feel like I just go for the negative by scouring the camp spots when we arrive. Once I find the disturbing, yet curious defacing, document it and process it, I find I can relax into the place and try to remain emphatic about the people that were there before me. Sometimes all I can think about is “what is wrong with people”, like when I find a not-so-hidden ‘swatstika’ burned into the trunk of a tree. But other times I wonder how many lanterns have hung off such strategically placed nails and what events have been witnessed by all the living things there. We all try to reconnect to something out there… whether its our families, our youth, ‘rewilding’ ourselves or just plain old fresh air.

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