Coleman Reports

Coleman reporting as ordered by the master. He is still occupied packing away the essentials of last week's holiday. That is "vay-cay-shun" to those of you in the colonies. I was in charge of the accommodations (tent) and the beverages (cooler).

Our latest sojourn into the *ahem* ferocious wilds of Silver Lake went much the same as in past years. That is, with the jeep ride in the sand dunes, the volleyball, miniature golf, a romp in the sand within the shadow of the Little Sable lighthouse, and of course, the beer. The master prefers to call it "Camper's cure-all." An example of his humor, I believe.

Since we were joined by two young ladies, girlfriends of two of our younger male campers, I was so hoping for more civility this year. On the contrary, conversation during the nightly board game became so loud that we were paid a visit by the campground ranger. Now, this was on the Fourth of July with loud explosions, both legal and not, filling the night air aroundabout. Speaks to something there. They should just let the master win. Then all would be well.


Oh, the joys I've seen in my many years harboring such fugitives from finishing school. I recall the master making reservations at a campground on Mt. Desert Island in Maine. The mosquitoes were so overjoyed at our arrival that they did a conga line as they entered my tent that evening.

Then there was the time the master, his brother the enforcer, their father and three members of the younger generation went camping on Manitou Island in upper Lake Michigan. Taking an eight-man tent to such an island was like driving an RV up Mt. Everest. A tad much perhaps.

When the boat from the mainland was unpacked and my tent was handed off, some wag remarked, "Who brought their golf clubs?" Then after hauling the tent several miles, the master and party neglected to secure the tent flies before departing to explore. Of course it rained. Of course there were puddles everywhere afterwards.

And, dear me, do not ask the enforcer how to safely unfasten a bungee cord that has been stretched taut and tied to a tree. Well, I suppose you could ask now. Experience can teach a very painful lesson.

Then there was the horrible outing in the Boundary Waters of Minnesota six years ago when my tent came within eight feet of being crushed by a falling tree during a storm one evening. How joyful it was to see the dawn the following morning.

So you have my report. As you can see, based on past circumstances, it was a successful holiday outing. I imagine my tent and cooler will be packed away for another year. Gracious, doing this more than once a year would leave a butler in tears.