It started with a backyard experiment. A tent. A few siblings. A spark of hope.
I had wanted to camp for years, not to escape life, but to return to it. Not for the wilderness alone, but for what the wild makes quiet. My wife wasn’t convinced. She’s a girly girl by nature, and her idea of vacation didn’t include dirt, bugs, or bathrooms without outlets.
So one summer, I pitched a tent in our backyard and invited her and her siblings to camp out. I hoped it would be the beginning of something. We laughed. Told stories. Slept on lumpy ground with the house just steps away. She enjoyed it, but the seed didn’t sprout. Not yet.
Still, we made it a tradition. Every year we’d set up the tent again, out of nostalgia, maybe. But deep down, I still longed for something more: the real thing.
Then came the elk hunt.
A friend invited me along. While I slept hunched in my car under layers of blankets, he stretched out in a warm travel trailer. When I got home, I mentioned maybe getting a pop-up camper for future trips. Just practical. Nothing fancy.
But then we looked. Fifth wheels. Trailers. Comfort mixed with nature. Her imagination shifted. What once felt like roughing it began to feel like reconnecting.
We bought a travel trailer in November 2022. And ever since, we’ve camped every month, sometimes twice a month. Not to escape, but to realign. To remember.
A New Rhythm
Camping has become more than a hobby. It’s a rhythm. A pause. A gentle rebellion against the pace of everyday life. It’s our way of saying no to the noise and yes to something quieter, slower, and truer.
We camp to explore, but also to exhale.
It’s the firelight and the morning birdsong. It’s conversations without screens and walks without schedules. It’s reconnecting with each other. With creation. With the God who carved it all and called it good.
We didn’t grow up camping. We didn’t know what we were missing. But somewhere between the early morning coffee outside and the starry night silence, we discovered what camping does for us:
It gives us space.
It gives us peace.
It gives us each other, without interruption.
Her Words: From “Not Sleeping Outside” to Craving the Quiet
When I first mentioned camping, she was clear:
“I’m not sleeping outside with wild animals.”
To her, “camping” meant roughing it. Bugs, cold nights, bathrooms you have to walk to in the dark, it didn’t sound restful. So we compromised: backyard camping with family. She enjoyed it. Mostly because the house, and a real bed, were just steps away.
But it didn’t flip the switch. Not yet.
Even now, she can’t point to the exact moment her view changed. It wasn’t the tent or the tradition. It was the trailers.
“The floorplans looked like a house,” she said.
“It wasn’t about camping. It was about not wasting something we’d paid for.”
Still, something shifted. Our first trip wasn’t driven by longing, it was driven by logic. But by the second or third, the space began doing what space does: it invited stillness.
“Now, I look forward to disconnecting from the hustle of work. I get to connect with God, with you, and with myself. You remove all the distractions, all the things that are vying for your time and attention.”
And to anyone who used to feel like she did?
“Try it. You might be surprised. There are beachy campgrounds, woodsy ones, even resort-style ones. You don’t have to rough it, you just have to be willing to slow down.”
Not Just for Campers
You don’t have to camp like we do. Not everyone needs a trailer or a firepit or the perfect mountain view.
But everyone needs room to breathe.
If you’ve been moving too fast, if your soul feels loud and your thoughts are scattered, it may be time to step away. Maybe for a weekend. Maybe just for a walk. Maybe to the woods.
And if you’ve written off camping, maybe it’s not the idea that’s wrong, it’s just the method. There’s no single way to do it. Backpacking, tent camping, RV glamping… the goal isn’t roughing it. It’s remembering what matters.
We camp because peace is easier to hear when everything else goes quiet.
…just a thought.
What’s your version of slowing down? Have you ever had a moment in nature that helped you remember what matters most?
