Once more to the lake
Sometimes I dream about going to camp, a place with no smartphones, laptops or TVs. Just people, a lake and long empty summer afternoons. Such places still exist. Last August my family and I spent a week at a camp in Northern Minnesota. We swam, kayaked, rode horses, went on hikes and laid around the cabin reading novels on our lumpy bunks.
It was the last week the camp was open and the young kids who had been hired on as counselors were slowly closing down the place for the season. August Family Camp week marked the end of their summer of inside jokes, friendships and love affairs.
The French have the right idea. Nobody should work in August. Instead, we all ought to be packed off to camp where we might sit up late having an actual conversation, a good laugh beside a bonfire or hang our feet off the dock. There ought to be a few days each year when we could awake without any agenda other than getting some breakfast in the dining hall.
It wouldn't change a thing, of course. The world with all its breathless Twitter-fed turmoil world would still be here once September came. Still, it would make for a lovely change of pace.