It was my first day of summer camp. We were going to be roughing it. I saw the sign from the window of my mom’s van. Camp Mowapi. More like camp jalopy, I mused. Sleeping in tents and bags didn’t sound very comfortable. It was probably poorly funded.

We drove way back into the woods along a winding road. Mom kept commenting on the beauty of the trees and the diverse wildlife. Ack. I pulled my cap lower over my eyes. I was supposed to learn to appreciate all that I have when this week was over.

We stopped at a large gravel parking area and saw several other kids unloading their things, lugging them uphill to a shelter or downhill toward a path through the trees.
We walked up to a group of adults wearing matching tees and gave them my name. I was in Family Group 4, at the end of the trail. Great. A hike. Lugging my stuff. All the way.

Mom helped carry my sleeping bag and commented on how I was going to love meeting new people and learning new things. I was still skeptical. And she was getting on my nerves.