Our First Camping Trip

The library · Big firsts · Watercolor

Our First Camping Trip

A tent that will not stand up, a lake to skip stones on, and a dog who hides everywhere.

What this story needs

A child, a grown up who went camping as a kid, and the person who taught them. A pet is optional.

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32 pages
8.5 x 8.5 inch hardcover
Photos deleted after 30 days

From the back cover

Grandpa has a very old list. Mom has a tent that will not stand up. And Amara has one whole summer to learn how to skip a stone.

Look inside

Turn the pages of a sample.

This one was made for Amara. Yours is drawn from your photos.

Our First Camping Trip

Morning in front of a small blue house. Grandpa Luis stands on the porch step reading an old, very folded sheet of paper, seen from the back. Mom and Amara load a rolled-up tent into the open trunk of a little red car. Pepper sits beside the car, watching.

Grandpa Luis had a list. It was very old and very folded.

“Tent. Flashlight. Marshmallows,” he read. “The same list I made when your mom was six.”

Beside the red car, Amara proudly holds up a folded paper while Mom gently shakes her head. On the ground by the car sits a brown duffel bag with its zipper open a little, and Pepper's nose and one floppy ear poke out of the opening.

Amara was six. Amara had a list too. It said: PEPPER.

“Pepper is staying with the neighbors,” said Mom. The duffel bag said nothing. The duffel bag wiggled.

The little red car parked at the edge of a shining mountain lake among tall pine trees. Amara runs toward the water with arms wide. Mom stands by the car, smiling at the lake like an old friend.

The road went up and up and around and around, until the trees stepped back, and there it was: a lake as shiny as a spoon.

“Our lake,” said Mom, the way you say the name of an old friend.

A campsite by the lake. The brown duffel bag lies wide open on the grass and Pepper leaps out of it in mid-air, ears flying. Mom, Grandpa Luis and Amara throw up their arms in surprise.

The duffel bag unzipped itself. “PEPPER!” said everybody.

Pepper said nothing, which is how you know he planned it.

A collapsed orange tent is draped over Grandpa Luis's head and shoulders like a very big orange hat; only his gray mustache and round glasses show under its edge. Mom and Amara double over laughing. Pepper sits nearby with his head tilted.

Grandpa held up a tent pole. “Watch me, then you try.” Mom watched. Amara watched. Pepper watched.

The pole bent. The tent flopped. And Grandpa ended up underneath it, wearing it like a very big orange hat.

A neatly pitched orange tent. Mom stands beside it dusting off her hands, proud. Grandpa Luis stands with his hands on his hips, surprised and proud. Amara peeks out of the tent door. Pepper runs a lap around the tent.

Then Mom picked up the pole. “Watch me, then you try,” she said, exactly like Grandpa. And the tent went up.

Grandpa looked surprised, then proud, then like he had meant to let her do it all along.

At the edge of the calm lake, a line of small ripple rings skips far across the water from Grandpa Luis's throw. Right beside Amara, a big splash rises where Amara's stone went plunk. Pepper watches from behind a boulder at the shore, his whole head showing.

At the water, Grandpa found a flat stone. “Watch me, then you try.”

Skip, skip, skip, skip. Amara’s stone went plunk. And plunk. And plonk, which is worse.

At the lake edge, Grandpa Luis crouches beside Amara, both laughing, as he holds up one flat stone between finger and thumb. Mom sits on a rock nearby, smiling. Pepper sits beside Mom.

“That is exactly how your mom started,” said Grandpa.

“Plonk?” “Plonk. Every summer. Until one summer, it was not.”

A forest trail with ferns and mossy rocks. Mom and Amara kneel close to the ground, looking at a curled fern and tiny deer footprints in the mud. Amara holds up an enormous pinecone. Pepper trots past proudly carrying a very long stick in his mouth.

On the trail, Mom showed Amara how Grandpa taught her to look close: a fern curled up like a snail, the footprints of a very small deer, and the biggest pinecone in the world.

Pepper found the biggest stick. He was very proud of it.

Night at the campfire under a sky full of stars. Amara's marshmallow, on a short stick held in one hand, has caught fire, and Amara's eyes are wide. Grandpa Luis leans in with his cheeks puffed, blowing it out. Mom laughs on a log. Pepper sleeps beside the log.

At night the fire crackled and popped. Mom told the story of her very first marshmallow. It caught fire. Then Amara’s caught fire too.

Grandpa blew it out with one big puff, the same way he did for Mom, a long time ago. “It runs in the family,” he said.

Inside the orange tent at night, lit by a lantern. On the tent wall, four shadow bunnies sit in a row, the last one with a floppy ear. Grandpa Luis, Mom and Amara hold their hands up making them. Pepper's head peeks out of the opening of a sleeping bag at the foot of the tent.

In the tent, Grandpa made a shadow bunny on the wall, the one he had made for Mom a hundred times. His hands were slower now. The bunny had a wobbly ear.

Mom made one next. Then Amara. Three bunnies in a row, and one more with a floppy ear, for somebody hiding at the bottom of the sleeping bags.

A misty pink sunrise over the lake. Grandpa Luis sits on a log holding a mug of coffee. Amara, at the shore, bends over the pebbles searching for the flattest stone. Pepper sniffs the pebbles beside Amara.

In the morning the lake was pink and quiet. Grandpa sat on a log with his coffee.

“My knees say I am done skipping stones,” he said. Amara looked for a long time, and found the flattest stone on the whole shore.

The pink lake at sunrise. Amara has just thrown a flat stone: a long line of five small splash rings, each farther out than the last, skips all the way across the calm water. Grandpa Luis jumps up from the log in joy, coffee splashing out of his mug. Mom stands behind with a hand over her mouth, eyes shining. Pepper barks happily.

“Watch me, Grandpa.” Skip. Skip. Skip. Skip.

Grandpa stood up so fast he spilled his coffee. Mom did not say anything. She was busy with her eyes.

Packing up beside the red car. Amara kneels in front of Pepper, holding up a flat stone to show him, with an old folded paper sticking out of one overall pocket. Grandpa Luis and Mom stand by the car, watching and smiling.

On the way home, Grandpa gave Amara the old list. “You keep it now.”

Amara read it out loud: Tent. Flashlight. Marshmallows. Then, at the bottom, Amara wrote one more line for next summer: Teach Pepper. “Watch me,” Amara told Pepper. “Then you try.”

This book belongs to

Amara

The end.

Grandpa has a very old list. Mom has a tent that will not stand up. And Amara has one whole summer to learn how to skip a stone.

Did you find Pepper on every page?

Made for Amara, with love from Mom and Grandpa Luis.

Every family deserves to see itself in a story.

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