True North Thoughts

Tag: nature

  • The Seasons Of Change

    The last couple of weeks have been full of changes—some more in mindset and action than in actual circumstance. Last week I believed winter took its last shot at the Northeast as it dropped a blizzard on us. Same tempo as most bigger storms: fuel, grease, oil, get the salt, and then begin sitting and waiting.

    Since I last posted, I’ve had time to think about a lot and reach out to friends. Some got back to me. Some have decided they no longer want to speak to me. While that stings more than I’m ready to explain, it occurs to me that perhaps they have their reasons. But whatever the reason is, it better be a good one—and if it’s not, then when and if they decide to “come back,” I may not be there waiting like a revolving door.

    What really bothers me lately is hearing from a friend who is possibly in the middle of a pretty intense dating scam. While they haven’t given the person any money, the requests keep coming. From the texts they’ve shown me, the pattern is always the same: ask for money, and when they don’t get it, immediately move to guilt trips, lashing out, and then apologizing—over and over again—in an attempt to wear them down until they finally send something.

    It’s something I will never understand. Why do people have to be that way? Why try to take advantage of someone like that?

    One of the messages said, “I’m out of gas, just $10 will get me home.” My friend wrote back, “I’m actually in the town you say you’re in right now. I’ve got a gas can—why don’t I just bring you gas?”

    Of course, that wasn’t the answer they were expecting. The story shifted, the excuses started, and suddenly it didn’t make much sense why meeting up wasn’t possible anymore. Funny how quickly things change when someone realizes the person on the other end isn’t going to play along.

    But maybe that’s part of the season of change too—learning to see things for what they really are.

    Next week the forecast says temperatures near seventy. A week ago we were digging out from a blizzard, and now people are talking about opening windows and sitting outside again. That’s the Northeast for you. Winter hangs on like it never plans to leave, and then one warm stretch reminds you that spring was always on its way.

    At the campground, the same quiet places that sat buried under snow all winter will start coming back to life. In April the seasonals will start rolling in, unlocking campers that have sat closed up for months, airing them out and sweeping away the dust of winter. By May the gates will open for everyone else, and the empty roads will fill with the sounds of tires on gravel, kids on bikes, and the low hum of campfires starting up again.

    Places that sat silent all winter will suddenly feel alive.

    The funny thing about seasons is that they change whether you’re ready for them or not. Snow melts, roads dry out, and the world keeps moving forward. People do the same thing. Some show up again when the weather gets warm, some never come back, and some were only meant to pass through for a little while.

    And maybe that’s okay.

    Because just like the campground after a long winter, life has a way of opening back up again. The gates swing wide, the quiet fills with voices, and the places that felt empty start to feel like home again.

    The seasons change.

    And so do we.

  • The Slow Down I Didn’t Know I Needed

    In my free time, I enjoy a lot of different activities, but most of them share one purpose: slowing the world down for a little while. Life moves fast without asking if you’re ready for it. Work piles up, responsibilities stack, and before you know it, you’re going through the motions instead of actually living.

    Now that fall has settled in and winter is just around the corner, I find myself home more. The campground has closed for the year, and with it, one of the biggest sources of peace in my life has gone quiet until spring. The nights are colder, the trees are bare, and everything feels like it’s shifting into a different season — not just outside, but in me too.

    During the summer, the campground is my happy place. My family has a seasonal site, and every time I pull in, it feels like the weight of the week lifts off my shoulders. There’s something different about that place — maybe it’s the crackle of the fire, the smell of other families cooking dinner, or the sound of whatever musician is playing down at the field. Or maybe it’s just the freedom to step away from everything for a bit.

    Most weekends, I don’t even bother stopping at home after work. I punch out at 4 p.m., get in my truck, and head straight there. Those drives are the bridge between my busy week and the quiet I’m chasing. By the time I arrive, people are settling in, fires are being lit, and the whole campground feels alive in a way nothing else does. It’s one of the few places where I can truly exist without worrying about anything.

    What I love most is how simple everything becomes. I rarely even carry my phone, and if I do, it stays in my pocket. Life slows down. My thoughts get quieter. I can just be.

    But the last month of the season is always the hardest. You can feel the shift long before the gates close. Friends start packing up earlier. Weekends get quieter. The music stops. The fires burn out faster. It’s the beginning of the end, and every year it hits me the same way — a mix of gratitude for the memories and a heaviness knowing it’s almost over.

    I find myself wanting to squeeze every last moment out of that place. Every last fire. Every last night sitting outside under the stars. Every last breath of summer before winter takes over.

    Reflection

    The end of the season always makes me step back and think about why places like this matter so much. It’s not just the campground — it’s what it gives me. Space. Stillness. A break from everything that moves too quickly. As life shifts into winter, I’m reminded that finding moments to slow down isn’t a luxury — it’s a necessity. And while the campground sleeps for a few months, the peace it gives me stays with me, reminding me to find that quiet wherever I can.

    More to come soon.