I found myself in the middle of a secluded campsite with a few members of my family. It was nearing dark and we were still setting up, but noticed that another group of campers were almost frantic to leave. I asked what their hurry was, and they said, “A storm’s coming.”
I continued setting up the tent, but with all the inexperience my family had with the outdoors, a lot of essential materials were missing. Some foraged around the general area in search for alternative supplies, while I hopped into the car with my boyfriend to find the closest convenient store.
The sun had already set, and the area was unfamiliar. The car behind us had his high beams on, which was extremely helpful as the livelihood of ours seemed to dwindle. Unfortunately, they made a turn off the road before we were able to find the main street. When we could no longer see a few feet ahead of us, we decided to turn back. By this time, our headlights only gave off a faint afterglow, but we knew that the return would be a simple straight journey going back. Even though we knew our course though, the darkness still made us wary.
After a seemingly endless stretch of road, we found our way back to the campsite. My uncles gathered as much firewood and potentially useful materials as possible, and created a mound about thirteen feet high. Items like rocking chairs, rotting doors, and window panes made our campsite look like a forlorn junkyard.
As we sifted through the heap for firewood, I was told that the mother of someone in our party had passed in my absence and that they buried her just outside our campsite.
… and the remaining details have, too, been laid to rest.