I rubbed the sleep from my eyes as the loud cackle of kookaburras outside the tent welcomed me to the day. I noticed the faint shadow of raindrops that still clung to the fabric of the outer tent while the inside remained dry. Camping trips were my favourite. On holidays like these, we slept in a camper trailer my Dad built, that creaked slightly when opened, with my brother and I on one side and my parents on the other. My Dad loved to build things and our garage was always full of half-finished projects, so much so that I don’t think I’d ever actually seen the car parked in the garage. My brother began to stir beside me as I unzipped the tent and climbed down the small ladder before putting on a pair of thongs. I made sure to turn around and close the tent. We had two rules whilst camping; no shoes inside the tent and always keep the zipper closed.
I nestled into my purple camping chair as my younger brother trudged out of the camper trailer and into the chair beside me. Under the box where we slept Dad had made a horizontal wooden shelf that pulled out for us to use as a kitchen. Mum was making coffee on the small gas stove, and I still don’t know how something that smelt so good could taste so bad. She told us to get our breakfast from the food tub under the stove and my brother and I helped ourselves to NutriGrain, which was only allowed on holidays. I carefully poured the perfect ratio of milk into my cereal and scoffed it down before it went soggy.
I always loved being out near the ocean. Instead of cars, it was soft waves that produced their own rhythmic motion of traffic, tugging and pulling against the shore. The air had a damp, humid scent after the rain the night before.
The campsite was coated with a slightly hazy layer of morning fog, Dad said it was the eucalyptus trees here that gave it a blueish colour. A few disgruntled parents awoke, and a couple of kids poked their heads out of their tents. Dad said he was up all night tying the tent down to make sure the campsite didn’t fly away while we all slept soundly. Mum and Dad decided to rest for the day and it was up to us to entertain ourselves. My brother ran off with the boy in the tent opposite to play cricket, or maybe soccer was the new obsession. I caught the eye of a girl, around my age, at the site next to ours and walked over to ask her if she wanted to play with me. Of course, she obliged, and we instantly became best friends. She rushed past her father, sitting in a camp chair drinking something from a can, and asked her mother if she could leave the campsite. Her mother glanced quickly at her father, who gave a slight nod. Our parents exchanged some sort of adult mutual understanding and allowed us to go play down at the beach. It was an unspoken rule that you became friends with the kids near your campsite. There was no concept of awkwardness and friendship was automatic. Maybe it was because we knew we would never see each other again after those few short days.
To get to the beach we had to pass through a track that wound through the sand dunes. My friend and I raced down the sandy path, the thick bush cradling us on each side, and the smell of salt mixed with the sound of waves grew stronger as we ventured further in. I recognised some of the plants that passed us from the times Dad took me bushwalking. I knew lilly pillies were the ones with glossy leaves and bright pink berries, deep purple when they were ready to eat. Casuarina trees had spindly leaves that made whooshing sound at night when the wind was strong. My favourite was pigface, or beach strawberries, which tasted like an overripe, salty berry which, for some reason, I absolutely adored. As the bush thinned out and the track opened onto the beach, my eyes scanned the ground searching for the treasure that hid amongst the cactus-like leaves sprawled across the edge of the dunes. I carefully tip-toed into the middle of the maze to pick two fruits I knew were the right shade of reddish-purple. I gently squeezed the base of the plant and the fruit popped into my mouth, coating my tongue with a salty sweetness. My friend was reluctant to try one at first and when I convinced her to, she spat it out almost immediately. Maybe I emphasised the strawberry part too much. We both doubled over laughing, the corners of our mouths stained slightly pink.
My friend and I found a spot on the beach under the spiked shade of a pandanus palm, immediately noting its perfect shape for our pretend games. I gathered some driftwood for us to build a fort at the base of the tree, and she collected shells for decoration. In one game, we were orphans on the run and had to hide from the authorities in our shelter. In another we decided that our fort was a witch’s hut so I hurried back along the track to collect some lilly pillies to use in our potions. I picked the bright purple berries and placed them in the fold of my shirt, throwing in some sticks and leaves for good measure.
I taught my friend a song and we tried to sing it in rounds. It ended with us hunched over in laughter unable to stop our lines from merging, joking that we had probably scared all the birds away. At one point, I noticed Mum and Dad emerge from the track entrance to check on us but I quickly shooed them away. I then decided to climb the limbs of the pandanus tree to see if any birds remained. I could tell my friend was hesitant about climbing so I hung off the end of a branch to show her that it was just like monkey bars in a playground. My hands gripped the sturdy branch as a slight breeze ruffled my braids. She still didn’t seem very convinced, so I swung down and we lay together on the sand instead.
My friend was really good at pointing out shapes in the clouds, one where a baby elephant chased after a tiny mouse and another where a giant t-rex fell asleep on his back. I noticed the sun beginning to dip behind the mountain range that stood behind us and knew Mum and Dad would want me back at the campsite soon. I could sense another storm brewing in the distance as a slightly sweet and thick breeze carried our way. I told her confidently that it would rain.
We made our way back down the track, bellies full, hearts happy and bodies tired. Those kinds of days were my favourite; when my feet were dirty, my skin was slightly warm from the sun even after it set and the scent of salt still clung to my hair. Our driftwood fort grew smaller behind us, the scattered shells, leaves and berries faded into small specks on the sand. My friend told me her family was leaving the next day and I was sad for a moment. We exchanged addresses and promised to write. Soon, both our campsites would be packed up and replaced with different families, and their kids would become best friends for a day. I hope they see our fort under the pandanus palm.
