We had planned on tent camping for novelty, adventure, and overflow space to organize over the weekend in Henry Cowell State Park near Santa Cruz. But the weatherman predicted rain, and when it began to sprinkle at dusk we found ourselves believing him. It was cozy, as always, in Emma our camper-truck, especially when pitter-patter on the roof brought deja vus of wet nights in Portland. We slept the deep sleep of the innocent. In the morning Frances made coffee as usual, while I admired her from the bed where I lounged. Eventually we stowed the bed, tidied up, and looked out. Couldn’t help laughing. A little lake with an island tent in the middle, rather like Crater Lake in southern Oregon. Nothing to do but synchronize our intentions and move against the mess with minimal tools and heaps of energy. Luckily I had the presence of mind to put our Olympus camera on a tripod, and set the timer, before we “dove” into the job. Funny how adversity can become the backdrop of happy memories.