Last night in camp. We spent all day on shore. Chelsea, the two Toms, and I played a round of spades. I took a few pictures of the sunset. The Big Dipper came out, and I saw Venus from the waterline. Right before bed I stood by a tree listening to the quiet on the lake. The water stood still and all one could hear was frogs in the distance. You could see the profound silence.

Tomorrow we paddle to a portage onto Clearwater Lake, then to the outfitters. The Boundary Waters are beautiful. A profound scene is paddling on a shimmering lake while forests of pine and outcrops of sheer rock formations rise like sentinels from the water's edge. The work of paddling, carrying the canoe, and camp chores add to the moment. For everything done here is done in the present, with little regard for past or future.

To get to where one needs to go, to cook a meal, to look upon the landscape, and to discuss it all with friends in camp is what happily occupies the mind. Existence is not based on a timed schedule here, but on what needs to get done. The laboring for existence in these woods is what gives existence its vitality.