Erin Glocke CAS138T Benjamin Henderson This I Believe I believe in dock nights.

In the summer of 2012, I worked at a youth camp in Michigan, in a town with a population the size of my high school. Nestled in the middle of the woods, this camp was designed to teach kids about nature and to provide adventure. Days were completely spent outdoors, draping hammocks between trees and listening to the crackle of a campfire while we gave cooking instructions to our enthusiastic campers. Kayaking trips, hikes through forests, swimming under waterfalls; I quickly learned that this was a place unlike any other. Nights were spent together as coworkers, often playing card games and eating leftover desserts in the mess hall while the campers slept. Almost every night however, after spending some time with everyone else, Jordan and I would break away from the group. Hand in hand, wed walk as quietly and carefully as we could past the cabins, down the gravel path that led to Indian Lake. Wed step lightly on the planks of the dock that would creek mercilessly and finally lie down side by side, staring up at a sky full of more stars than I had ever seen in my life. Wed pass the late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning enjoying everything around us and our time together. Hed tell stories of his collegiate adventures, Id recount the stupid things our campers did on cookouts; they were simple conversations. He, with his Man vs. Wild-esque lifestyle, quizzed me on the sounds around us: the bullfrogs, the loons, the owls. Wed search for constellations in the sky and wed watch the traveling of the moon. As I head a coyotes howl echo across the lake, I found myself completely submerged in the present moment. My mind, usually a jumbled mess of future worries and past reviews, was calmed down to focus on nothing more than my surroundings. I could feel my heart beating, could see my breath in the cold Michigan night; I was content and carefree. I loved those moments on the dock, as they grounded me. They reminded me to slow down and to appreciate each moment I was given, especially as my time at camp, my haven, was getting progressively shorter. Though I cannot replicate these nights completely now that I have returned to the real world, I can recall the way they felt. There are no lakes or coyotes where I live to anchor my thoughts, but they can be anchored through the memories of how it feels to be completely involved in the present and to appreciate each little moment.