In my teen years, I spent my summers in central Wisconsin with a cousin my age. He lived six miles north of town on a 50 acre wooded hill complete with a creek meandering along the north edge.
On summer evenings when the adults were playing cards in the brightly lit dining room of his home, he and I would coat ourselves with 6-12 Insect Repellent and steal away to an embankment of the creek. We would squirm into the leaves until we were comfortably and perfectly positioned at an angle that afforded us a view of the sky through the overhead trees.
We would talk, sharing our deepest thoughts, solving the profound problems of two boys in their early teens with earnest conversation and sage observations on the meaning of life. Oh we were so wise. Then, when our insightfulness ran its course, at some mutually agreed but unspoken moment, there came a natural break and we would fall quiet.
Absolute silence… that was the key. It would not take long before the woods around us came alive. The bubbling of the creek was always the first to present itself. It was always there of course, but in our self imposed silence it became the theme of what was no less than a natural symphony with Mother Nature conducting. Our eyes were now adjusted to the darkness and the moon and stars of the Milky Way cast a shimmering glow about us. Then the solo instruments of nature slowly resumed their parts in the performance. First a whippoorwill… then an owl. For the bass accompaniment a bullfrog. Treble notes from the treetop far above us—a series of short riffs, each one different—a mockingbird in search of a mate. A brief scurrying as a nearby nocturnal animal re-inhabited the area, unaware of our presence.
It was perhaps Mother Nature at her finest and we never grew tired of visiting her concert hall.
Reservations not required.
Best seats in the north woods.