Actually, that's how the idea of the camping-vacation came about in the first place. Tony came up with the idea to have "a holiday away from civilization" as he had put it then. The idea of a camping trip may have also reflected the simple fact that Tony never really liked staying in hotels. He loved being in the open. He loved the sky. He loved sleeping under the stars. And who could blame him? The stars are brighter at 40,000 feet above the haze of the countryside. In his long career with the Air Force he probably fell in love with the splendor of them. I knew that I would have, as indeed I had to some degree many years earlier. I remembered some spectacular starry nights from hiking trips along the high ridge in Smoky Mountain Park.



      Since the main vacation season was already over, the traffic had been light on the day we left Pittsburgh. We had arrived in plenty of time to set up camp before nightfall. We had selected the only grass-covered spot there was on the entire rocky platform at the edge of the cliff overlooking the beach. We had talked about building our new house there, during our previous visit when we had discovered the largely overgrown road leading up to it. It hadn't taken long to pitch our new high-tech tent, a large tent big enough for six. Tony called it jokingly, the "hotel tent."

      Setting up camp hadn't been a chore under those circumstances with everyone joking and being of high spirits. Naturally, the environment that we were in had a great deal to do with that. We had not only come to the greatest campground we have ever had been at where no noisy campers surrounded us and ghetto blasters could be heard. We also had a 270-decree view of the ocean with no sign of civilization anywhere near to be seen. There weren't even any boats in the water. On top of it all, the realization that this place was actually ours for all time to come added a profound sense of joy.

      The coming camping experience promised be but an overture for even more wonderful times ahead that would never end. The tent would then give way to our new house. We gave Tony the option to build a house of his own on the property should he choose to do so. Thus we celebrated our new heaven on earth that very first evening with a vigorously sung campfire song, and then another, and still another.

      That evening definitely became the most satisfying evening that we all agreed we had in a long time. I felt as if a great battle had been won and we were the victors of it.



      We ate supper quite late that evening with the coals of the campfire heating the kettle for tea. This happened long after the last glow of the sunset had faded on the horizon. Our tenting spot seemed ideal for sitting in the open. The space was protected from the coastal winds by a wall of dense shrubbery, except for the side of the cliff where the vegetation was low enough so that it didn't hide the view of the water.



      The ocean had been darkly colored that evening with a hue of the darkest orange reflecting the sky that gradually gave way in places to even darker hues, hues of a deep blue that contrasted starkly with the last rays of the receding sunset far to the right where the horizon appeared almost golden. Soon the sky turned cobalt, trending towards black above us as the night set in and the first stars appeared. Since we had strapped a few bundles of firewood onto top of the truck there was no need for anyone to scout around for wood. We had come to celebrate and to enjoy also the silence. Apart from the faint crackling of the fire the only sounds that we could hear, when everyone was quiet, where the sounds of the surf washing up onto the beach and flowing back, interspersed with the occasional cries of seagulls.

      The muted sounds added to the holiday kind of background. It even added to the music that we had brought in the form of tapes that we played well on our little radio. Some of the more familiar tines became our first campfire songs. It seemed the most natural thing to do to sing along, and the right thing to do when the moon stood high above us in the now cloudless dark. We were singing, interrupted with chatting, till way past midnight on this first night in our New World. Perhaps we stretched the celebration out just to prove to us that this was our own campground and that it was so big that no one could possibly hear us no matter how noisy we would be or shriek with excitement whenever that seemed appropriate.

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Stories about  Healing from novels by Rolf A. F. Witzsche