A Camping Diary: The Spelling Check

The Page That Came Home

1Friday evening — I expected our camping weekend to produce a dramatic diary entry. Instead, my first observation concerned a missing spoon. While Dad searched the equipment bag, my cousin Bram balanced his dinner bowl on one knee. I offered a pencil as a possible substitute, which nobody considered useful. Eventually, the spoon appeared inside a rolled towel. I wrote that down because an honest diary should probably include the less impressive moments.

2Saturday morning — Our campsite had a narrow wooden platform beside the tent. Bram spread a folded map across it after breakfast. I checked the temperature on the small thermometer attached to my pack. A persistant rattle from a loose buckle interupted our conversation. Beyond the platform, a squirrel dragged a strip of bark toward a stump. We watched until it vanished, then returned to deciding which walking route would leave us enough time to cook.

3Saturday afternoon — The route looked manageable on paper, but I underestimated the distance between two trail markers. At the second marker, I felt embarassed about my confident prediction. Bram suggested an alternitive route back to camp, and I agreed without pretending it had been my idea. We took turns carrying the heavier bag. By the time we reached the tent, I had written three different versions of our afternoon in my head. In each version, I sounded slightly more capable.

4Saturday night — Preparing dinner became an unexpected acheivement. The vegetables cooked unevenly, and the first serving was almost entirely carrots. Still, we ate everything. Afterward, I tried to write an accurate discription of the day. I could exagerate the difficult walk or leave out my mistake, but neither version seemed worth keeping. Bram read the opening lines and asked why I had omitted his suggestion. I added it, along with my reluctant agreement.

5Sunday morning — Before leaving, we checked the site for anything we might have dropped. Dad called this a shared responsability, not a task for whoever happened to notice the mess. I found a wrapper under the platform and a glove beside the tent. Packing required more patiance than arriving had. On the ride home, I reread my diary. The weekend looked less polished than I had imagined, but the page finally sounded like something that had happened to us.