Grading Gran

By Donna Gamache

“I’m so glad you’ve come, Austin,” my grandmother said when she met me at the airport. “I hope you’ll enjoy your visit!”

I hoped so, too. But three weeks with a grandmother I barely knew wasn’t my idea of a super vacation.

“I really want to attend the conference in Nicarauga,” my mom had said, “and Grandmother Raynor has asked you to visit.”

I couldn’t say “No.” Gran Raynor is my dad’s mom, but I hardly know her. That’s because Dad died eight years ago, when I was four, and because she lives three states away. We write and telephone, but I hadn’t seen her for years. I wasn’t even sure I’d recognize her!

As grandmothers go, she’s not old, but I was sort of expecting a gray-haired lady in a dress. Instead she was wearing jeans, and her hair was bright reddish-brown. That was only the first of many surprises.

“I’ve planned all sorts of activities, “Gran said as we left the airport. She started listing them—fishing, golf, horseback riding, to name a few—not grandmother-type activities, but twelve-year-old kid things! “We’ll try fishing first,” she added. “Your grandpa used to fish. His rod and tackle are still around.”

I’d never tried fishing, but the very first morning she insisted on getting up at five o’clock and digging worms from the back yard. We spent the whole day in a rented rowboat—casting, waiting for a nibble, casting again—all without a single bite.

“I guess I fail the fishing test,” Gran joked afterwards. “A big fat F.”

“You’re okay with the worms!” I told her.

She laughed and began planning the next activity—golf. That didn’t work out any better. I’d never golfed before and if Gran had, her game didn’t show it. After losing about six balls, we finally called it quits. Using Gran’s grading system, it rated about a D!

“The next activity will be better, Austin,” she assured me. “There’s a cross-country ski trail where they ride bicycles in summer.”

Two days later she borrowed bikes and a carrier. Only, they were just regular ten-speeds, no good on grassy ski-trails. Besides, I bet it was ten years since Gran rode a bike!

“Another F,” I thought, as we pushed our bikes back up the hills. But I didn’t say it out loud!

“You don’t have to try all these activities for me,” I told her, and for the next few days we stuck to easier things—a movie, a shopping trip, and a swim at the local pool. I rated them all a solid B.

Then she hit on a new idea—camping! “I’ve found your grandpa’s old tent in the garage,” she said excitedly.

“I’ve never camped before,” I told her. “Have you?”

“Sure. Not lately, but your grandpa and I used to camp when we were younger. We’ll try a National Forestry campground in the foothills.”

“What about bears? Or mountain lions?”

“They’re usually scared of people. You just have to lock your food in the car.”

She began to round up sleeping bags, mattresses, and food. I was still doubtful, but I didn’t want Gran to think I didn’t appreciate her efforts. Besides, I had orders from Mom: “Remember, Gran is going out of her way for you, so do what she asks.” I just wondered if Mom had any idea what that meant!

By two o’clock the next day we’d found the campground, an open meadow surrounded by hills. We were the only campers there.

Gran dumped poles and pegs on the ground, then frowned. “Guess I forgot an axe or hammer to pound these in.”

About then I wanted to give her a D, but instead I hunted out a strong branch to pound with; that didn’t work. “Try your hiking boot,” I suggested, and that did the trick, but it was a slow operation. By then I was starving. Fortunately, Gran had brought homemade cookies. Her grade went up!

“Time to blow up the air mattresses, “she announced, which was a long job, too. Then she asked me to gather wood for a fire.

“Get plenty of dry twigs and bark,” she said, “since we can’t cut kindling.”

“You did remember matches?” I asked, and she held out a waterproof container. Luckily it hadn’t rained, so everything was dry.

Then Gran showed me how to make a campfire. “For roasting hot dogs later on,” she said.

The campfire and hot dogs were great. There were marshmallows, too, and toasted over the fire, they were the best! Even though they did go along with Gran’s campfire singing, I was ready to give her an A+! “This was your best idea yet,” I told her.

A few hours later I changed my mind. I woke to the sound of heavy rain on the tent and raindrops on my face. Gran switched on the flashlight to show three steady drips above me. “This tent has seen better days,” she said. “Move your sleeping bag.” Then she dashed out for containers to catch the drips.

There was enough room to rearrange things, but my sleeping bag was wet. That, and the rain pounding on the tent, and the sound of drips landing in the pail and pans kept me awake all night.

About when it started to get light, the rain eased off, but everything outside was soaking, including the firewood. “Darn!” said Gran. “I brought bacon and eggs for a real camping breakfast, but I should’ve brought a campstove.” We settled for bread and peanut butter, and ate it in the tent. By the time we’d finished, the clouds were breaking up.

We emptied out the containers we’d used to catch water, wiped the picnic table dry, and draped my sleeping bag and some wood over it to dry out.

“Let’s try a hike,” Gran suggested and, using a map, we headed upstream along a small creek. Except that my feet were soon soaked, it was a great day! Gran pointed out a hawk’s nest, and raccoon and deer tracks. We snacked on more cookies, careful to follow the creek so we wouldn’t get lost.

It was after three o’clock when we returned. Right away we saw our tent collapsed in a heap, and my sleeping bag on the grass.

“Oh, oh,” said Gran, and pointed out large tracks as well as rips in the tent that looked like claw marks. “Looks like we’ve had a bear. We shouldn’t have eaten breakfast in the tent. He probably smelled the peanut butter. Don’t worry,” she added. “I’m sure he’s long gone now.”

“But our tent!”

Gran sighed. “It’s wrecked. I guess we’ll have to pack up and head home.”

We started loading. “This trip was a definite F. Or worse!” Gran said.

“I don’t know, Gran. Some of it was fun. And I sure learned a lot about camping. What to do—and what not to do,” I added with a grin.

“You mean that, Austin?” Gran asked as she started up the car. “Good. Because I’ve got lots more ideas. I think we’ll try horseback riding next!”