Nehaveigur

I’m lucky to have friends I can talk to about weighty concepts such as grace without feeling silly. It takes a few beers to get me there though. This summer, I was sitting on the porch of a cabin we had rented in a remote Austrian valley with my sister’s former partner, who is one of my favorite people to talk to. We talked about when we’re happiest. He said that to be happy, he needs to be with other people. I realized that I need to be alone.

This Labor Day weekend my wife and I took our kids camping in Tahoe National Forest. There, at 6,000 feet, are dozens of small lakes, some of them accessible by paved roads, some by badly maintained gravel roads, but most of them only by foot. On Friday, we found a campsite near one of the lakes, and we stayed there until Monday.

In the mornings and the afternoons, I walked down to the lake to get water. The first time, one of my daughters came along, but after that they all decided it was too far, so I went by myself. Approaching the lake with my plastic one-gallon jug, I could see the water’s surface reflecting mottled sunshine through a bush. Two squirrels chased each other, their claws making scratching noises on the bark. Otherwise, it was silent. That was all it took to make me feel it again.