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.