Camping Diary: Keep a Steady Voice

Sunday Evening: Back from the Campsite

1I unpacked my sleeping bag this evening, and a few pine needles fell onto my bedroom floor. Yesterday I would have brushed them away without looking. Tonight I left them there while I found this notebook. They reminded me of the place where I finally admitted that I didn’t know what I was doing.

2Before we left on Friday, I pictured myself handling every part of the camping weekend without help. My cousin Dalia had camped before, but I had watched several videos about putting up a tent. That seemed like enough preparation while I was sitting comfortably at home. At the campsite, the loose poles and folded fabric looked much less familiar.

3The tent bag lay open beside the picnic table. I felt embarrassed asking Dalia for help, but I was more tired of pretending I knew what to do. She spread the instructions across her knees. Together, we matched each pole to the drawing and began again.

4By Saturday afternoon, I could recognize which poles belonged together. When Dalia asked me to hold one end while she fastened the other, I paid attention instead of trying to prove something. Later we sat outside with our mugs and listened to the wind moving through the branches. I had expected the best part of camping to be doing something impressive. Instead, I liked having nothing to explain or defend.

5This morning, folding the tent took both of us. My first attempt left a thick roll that wouldn’t fit inside the bag, so we unfolded it and tried a narrower fold. I still want to learn to set it up myself. Next time, though, I’ll read the instructions before deciding I don’t need them. For now, I’m leaving those pine needles on my desk.