Partner and I went to a weekend a Capella singing retreat. It was glorious: all the singing Quakers converging to potluck both food and music. Many of our meetings do not sing, or don’t do so regularly, so singing is a treat akin to that one desert (you know the one I mean) that sometimes comes to the church dinner. The one you keep your eye out for, because once it’s cut, it will be whisked and whirled away on paper plates, hoovered into hungry mouths. You have to be at the top of your potlucking game to get a piece of a desert with such a reputation.
There are a limited number of beds available at the retreat, but nearly unlimited spaces to pitch a tent. Being relatively young and spry, and also painfully introverted, Partner and I prefer to camp- we get our own space, far from the madding crowd, and it’s a tent! What could be better?
I love sleeping out in the tent. I got to wake up to birds singing. I got to bring coffee back to the tent, and watch the steam climb the cold air. Also, I got sick- because really, who’s dumb enough to camp in mid-April? It was crazy cold.
The singing was beautiful, though. I’m blessed, too, to have a job that offers sick time; being unable to breathe properly and attached to a tissue box isn’t my favorite reason to extend a weekend, but it’ll do.