• Camping


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    Smoke fills the air along with its eternal companion of heat. Flames lick at the wood within the circular silver pit. Upon the small grill burnt from its year of servitude lays meat with the name of Dogs*, slowly an orange substance seeps out from its confinement. Strong hands grip a table of wood and set it away from the blaze. A blur of red and white fills the air as a cloth of checks lands on the table. A piece of meat foreign to camps lands on the grill to barbecue#. A boy of six feet shakes his head and sighs.

    Two sets of tiny feet scamper around the site laughing and shrieking while the hunt for more fire wood has begun. Paths made by the ones before us are being walked upon, twigs, fallen frawns and branches are collected from their earthly resting place. All in the group of eight through sixteen are scouring. The oldest soon desert their mission, preferring to have horse play then a dinner not raw. The elder of the two little ones wonder aloud where her big brother is.

    Condiments of different colors are being dug out of a blue bucket. Plastic utensils appear knives, forks, spoons, cups, there’re all there. Plates and napkins alike are soon to follow. As do fly’s. Drinks are now being cover for fear that they will be invaded. The oldest of the little ones fights becoming covered in a spray to keep the bugs away, the youngest embraces it.

    Heat beats us down upon all of our beings. Sweat has covered our foreheads. The little ones clothes are soaked; sadly the oldest has no replacements as she is only to be here for a short while. The oldest of the children have now returned with ax and video camera in hand. It pains me to imagine what they were doing.

    Finally the food is done. Flies try to reach it but they are successfully swatted….for a moment’s time. Buns are handed around; the hot dogs are soon residing in our stomachs. With stomachs now full, we start off on the daring mission to find a working lighter. Sadly, one was not found, we were forced to use matches. But when we saw the glistening lights that the gold sparklers gave off, we knew the hard search was worth our time. The youngest little one was soon laughing and clapping her chubby little hands in delight while watching the wick of the sparkler slowly becoming shorter.

    Soon our friends and father leave, our number is now considerably less. The once clear cerulean blue sky has turned black. The stars are sparkling so innocently in the midnight sky. Metal sticks with two prongs at the end have now been handed to us. We slip marshmallows onto them unmercifully. A boy of only eight offers to roast some of the cloud like snacks for his aunt and mother. They accept. I watch as marshmallow slowly starts to burn in my cousins’ shaky hand. I have stuck my marshmallow too far into the fire, I can only watch with sad eyes as it is instantly consumed by the flames.

    The oldest of us children soon bring out their acoustic guitars. Mismatched songs of old men, bananas and green fire are soon flying around the fire pit. Once again my fluffy white foodstuff is consumed, there now really is green fire in the circular pit. Discouraged I make my way to the tent and onto my mattress full of air. It is safe to say that, like everyone else in our small camp, I am ready to welcome sleep with open arms; it has been a long day.



    *Hot Dogs

    # My dad wanted steak