Less Conversation More Observation

A couple of weeks ago, I did something I don’t do often enough — I went somewhere entirely for myself.

I booked an early morning tour at Howe Caverns, intentionally aiming for the smallest crowd possible. When I arrived and realized the entire tour group consisted of me and just six other people, I was quietly thrilled. Sure, I was the odd man out, but the lack of a crowd made for something far better than conversation: space.

Two hundred feet below the surface of the earth, the caverns hold steady at about 55 degrees year-round. On the bitterly cold morning I went, that underground constancy felt almost welcoming — like stepping into a different season entirely. The world above was frozen and sharp. Down below, everything was cool, damp, and still.

As a kid, I had visited once before, but I don’t remember much. What I do remember, I certainly didn’t appreciate. Back then it was just a cave. Now, it felt like architecture built by time itself. If I could have done it my way, I would have wandered alone with my camera, taking my time, letting the chambers breathe. Of course, the tours are guided and structured — you move as a group. But I had no problem lingering toward the back, letting a little distance form so I could capture photos of the caverns looking as empty as possible. In those moments, with the group just out of frame, the space felt ancient and untouched.

It was a very cool experience — literally and otherwise.

One detail I didn’t expect was the cheese. They age cheese inside the cave, using that constant 55-degree temperature to their advantage. Naturally, I had to try a block. It was delicious — bold and strong, the kind of cheese that demands your attention. Not something I’d casually slice onto a sandwich, but absolutely perfect for a charcuterie board. Sharp, earthy, a little stubborn. It felt fitting to bring a piece of the cavern home.

Going back as an adult felt different in a way I didn’t anticipate. There’s something grounding about standing 200 feet underground, surrounded by stone that predates memory, noise, and hurry. You realize how temporary most of our concerns are. Down there, time moves in inches per century.

It wasn’t a loud adventure. It wasn’t dramatic. It was quiet. Observational. Intentional.