My Narnia

We all need that timeless place: a piece of childhood where the world cannot change, and the only sounds are that which you create. When I was a child, my parents often helped a school friend run his summer day camp. It’s located in a forgotten chunk of central Wisconsin—not north enough to be considered North Woods, but not south enough to be considered Suburbia. I could run round this camp as much as I wanted, and did. There could be over a hundred kids, and other families with tents, and I’d never see or hear them. The fields and forests spellbound me. I could see the talking beavers emerge from the wildflowers and warn me of the White Witch’s secret police.

This land is my Narnia.

I returned after a twenty-year absence. A few new cabins, a few new signs. But the fields and the forests: unchanged.

Find a place where magic glows in the air you breathe. Stand in its majesty. Imagine.