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The
Camp
Mon., June 15, 1925
The
weather was perfect this morning, crispy clear with creamy
clouds casting interesting shadows on the mountains. The
sun was hot but the breeze fresh and cool, blowing away
the mosquitoes and gnats, which, by the way, have been terrible
this year. But this afternoon in our pasture, brimming with
strawberries, as soon as I started to pick them, it began
to thunder, the sky grew black and the breeze died down,
just the opportunity the gnats and skeets had been looking
for. Even when it started to rain my companions were not
deterred-and I suffered the tort[ ] of Tantalus. A harder
job I never had than to keep to my silly resolution to pick
every berry in a certain luscious spot. I did it, however,
and with a full quart and a half in my pail, ran for home
and into the pond.
The frustrating gnats are so small they can hardly be seen
and are never heard. They get inside your clothes and into
your hair. They sting your eyes and lips and ears. Not one
inch of your body is safe from them. Mosquitoes are far
better sports, announcing their approach and challenging
you to catch them before they catch you. But enough of such
an irritating topic!
We had a funny lunch today, or rather, as it was nearly
three o'clock, high tea without the tea (Aunt Emma used
to read to us about high tea in her old English story books)--ice
cold coffeemilk, strawberries, crackers and penuche. Too
hungry to wait for the latter to harden, we spread it on
our crackers--odd but good.
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