When arriving in the meadow, you know that you are close to home. Not close enough that you feel confident you could get there on your own, but close enough to feel the ache in your knees blended with the anticipation of "home."If it has rained any that day, the grass has gathered much water and waited for your jeans and socks to pick it up. The tall grass reminds you that God is keeping the lawn and he likes it tall. Besides FPYC campers, few people walk here. The old logging road is abandoned and slowly being taken over by nature's way.
As you look at the birch trees, you remember that its bark can be used to start a fire - oh yes, campfire tonight. You might even prepare for silly campfaire songs, talk with cabin mates or friends about what silly song you might sing tonight.
"There's a hole in the bottom of the sea," is sung along the hike more than in any other place besides the campfire itself. Lots of jokes have been told in the meadow. Lots of friendships made as well.
It is at this point in the hike that the conversation with the person you are hiking with has gone beyond the surface recapturing of a year apart or the gettting to know you and deeper into the stuff of life. Problems and failures, successes and lucky breaks are more easily shared by the time you get to the meadow. The meadow offers a sort of metaphor for the depth conversations take at this point, a brief coming out of the woods to openness. No longer shielded by the forest canopy, you are open and exposed - but usually pretty safe.
