Tent Camping in the Late Summer Sunlight

Tent Camping

Ruby and the ancient tarp-covered tent, September 20, 2024

Last week Ruby and I went tent camping for several days at the Lake Michigan Recreation Area. It is in the Huron-Manistee National Forest north of Ludington, Michigan, and it borders the Nordhouse Dunes Wilderness Area—3,500 acres of untamed forest where people like to pursue primitive and dispersed camping.

Ruby and I took a slightly more civilized approach. We pitched our ancient tent on a designated campsite that had a fire ring and picnic table, with a water faucet and outhouse nearby. From there we could access miles and miles of hiking trails through forested dunes and to pristine beaches. To ward off the predicted rain, I covered our tent with a huge blue tarp. But hardly any drops fell. The weather was perfect for life outdoors.

Hiking and Swimming

Ruby in the big lake at Lake Michigan Recreation Area, September 22, 2023

For Ruby, the most important part of camping is her daily swim. Like the other dogs we’ve had—Rosa, a Golden Labrador mix, and Hannah, a purebred Golden Retriever—Ruby is a fresh-water enthusiast. She can’t wait to plunge into Lake Michigan, even if it takes an hours-long hike to get there.

For me, by contrast, the favorite part is the hike itself. It’s so renewing to wander through the woods, sometimes lost in thought, yet seeing trees sift the sunlight while lake breezes stir distant memories and bird songs grace the open air. We saw few people and even fewer dogs during our many hours of hiking and swimming. Even the half-filled campground seemed unusually quiet. Solitude is a reward for late summer camping.

So is the chance to soak up summer’s last rays. On September 20, two days before the autumn equinox and the last evening of our trip, Ruby and I sat on a dune overlook high above Lake Michigan to enjoy the late-afternoon sunlight. We could hear the distant voices of children playing far below. Otherwise we were completely alone, enveloped in the stillness of a slowly setting sun. 

Gratitude and Affection

Ruby sat calmly while I took her picture. She seemed skeptical about taking a selfie with me, however. Narcissism is not in her nature. But gratitude and affection are, and they reinforced what I felt as our camping trip ended. 

I am grateful for the companionship of Joyce and Ruby and our many friends and family members and acquaintances and neighbors. I am thankful for good health, for opportunities to sing and write, for colleagues in the arts and academy who encourage my work, and for audiences and readers who find benefit from it. And even though it has been ten years since I last taught in a university setting, I’m happy I still have a passion to pursue philosophy with a human heart.

Ruby on bench at dune overlook, September 20, 2024

I do not take any of these good gifts for granted. We’re living in a dangerous time, as is indicated by my previous posts about New Attacks on the Administrative State and the Threats of a New Imperial Presidency in the United States. None of us knows what the future holds. Yet I want to live into it like Ruby, in gratitude and affection. I hope you do too.

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