SAMPLE STORY 3

It's all how you look at it. How many times have we heard that simple advice and thought it too simple? In this delightful story, the author shows us how true it can be, and how sometimes contentment requires only a change in point of view.

A TRICK OF THE MIND

Betty Goddard

After a hectic week, I was ready for two days of camping. Immersing myself in nature always acted as balm to my spirit. I tossed my tent into the back of the station wagon and drove along Turnagain Arm to a secluded, wooded spot where I planned to camp. Lush moss carpeted the earth, hemlocks waved, warblers sang. I looked around and breathed deeply. Idyllic, thought I.

How quickly nature disabused me of that serene conclusion. As soon as I emerged from my car to set up my Coleman stove, swarms of mosquitoes zinged in, buzzing an exultant hurrah. I was their next meal. Waving and slapping, I tossed up my tent, abandoned my stove, and leapt into my car for a peanut butter sandwich, and a chance to strategize.

I eyed the distance between my car and the tent. Could I survive a mass attack? Gathering resolution I flung myself out of my Chevy, and scrambled to a nearby garbage can. Hastily, I dumped Buhach (a powerful bug repellent) onto its lid and lit that up, intent on driving out all mosquitoes. Sure enough the squadron began to thin out. Success! As soon as the last visible enemy departed, I lunged for the tent's mosquito netting, jerked the zipper down, and settled for a cozy night's sleep.

Alas. I was doomed to wakefulness. The thin nylon membrane between the enemy and me reverberated like the skin of a giant drum. "Peck-peck-pecklety-peck." Mosquitoes! Blood-thirsty mosquitoes were dive-bombing me, hurling themselves at my shelter. Swarms of them peck-peck-peckled, peck-peck-peckled, drawn to the smell of blood — my blood.

I tossed, flopped, and groaned. I stuffed toilet paper in my ears. I wrapped a pillow over my head. But the sounds thrust through, sandpapering my nerves. "Peck-peck-peckle. Peck-peck-peckle." I couldn't smother the incessant din of those bombardiers attacking my tent, homing in on me.

On into the weary night, I heaved and sighed. Would morning ever come? Worn and gritty, I hoisted up and peered beyond the mosquito netting. A splash of moisture graced the tip of my nose — cool, refreshing moisture. It was raining.

Now, folks, I confess: There is nothing I love more than the sound of rain on a roof. I sighed a contented sigh as I uncoiled from my harrowing experience, snuggled deep into my sleeping bag, and let the soothing peck-peck-peckles of dancing raindrops lull me fast asleep.

 

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