My Auntie Edna liked to camp. She thought everyone should camp because it made them appreciate modern conveniences. She said back home in Virginia the only people who camped were hunters and bums.

My Uncle Joe would say no way would he go camping, unless it was to hunt. It was too much work and not enough fun. Auntie Edna called him a bum, anyway.

"She doesn't have your imagination, Baby Rose," Uncle Joe said to me, winking, shrugging it off. Then he swung me, playing Statues. Uncle Joe loved to have fun.

So in the spirit of marital negotiations, she went without him every year to Van Dusen River and set up camp for two weeks.

They liked to "rough it." Mama said it was Auntie Edna's excuse to let everything go to the dickens for two weeks. Maybe so, because for those two weeks my cousins were shoeless and shirtless, ate with their fingers, and swam clean in the river.

Auntie Edna set up a First Aid Station on a box to take care of the various cuts, scrapes and contusions. Mama said, those kids were looked after by angels not to get hurt worse.

We would usually drive down on the Sunday between the weeks of camping to take supplies and to visit. Mama said we had to see them before the kids had gone jungle. That made me laugh; there was no jungle, only deep woods. Pop usually drove and we tried always to get an early start so we could get home early. Since it was Sunday we were in our better clothes; my brother wore his gray slacks and white shirt and I wore my best plaid dress with the ties and lace collar. Mama looked beautiful in her floral dress and Pop always wore a hat.

It didn't matter how early we were. The half-naked cousins were either in the woods, swinging on swings they had hung, or were swimming in their underwear in the river, only coming out to shiver for a minute before jumping right back in.

Auntie Edna was always doing the same thing, too: eating a box of store-bought Mother's oatmeal cookies, reading a book and drinking a beer. This always gave my mother a sick headache. Especially since Aunt Edna offered Pop a beer; she knew not to offer Mama anything to drink.

Our car trunk was stuffed with groceries from Walt's Market and produce from our garden. Mama usually made a Boston Creme Pie, because it was Auntie Edna's favorite. Usually, there was an icebox filled with steaks that Pop would cook on a special rack over the campfire. There were even marshmallows.

Mama practically held her breath the whole time we rode down there. She didn't want the Boston Cream Pie to slip. It was sitting in an apple box. It wasn't even a pie.

It was a big chocolate double-strength cake with a lemon pudding filling and a cooked white fluffy sugar frosting. Mama anchored the layers with toothpicks. Pop often suggested chicken wire around it. Mama frowned at him. After all, Auntie Edna was her baby sister.

Last summer, we ended up staying for three days while Lance, my noodle brother, and I tried to convince Mama to let us go jungle-wild with our cousins while she and Auntie Edna visited. Mama was talking to Auntie Edna about keeping her family together. The cousins and my brother never eavesdropped on the grown-ups but I always did. A person could find out what was going on.

It was early one morning and Mama had spent her first camping night in the tent. When she came out, her hair was tangled and her mascara had blurred around her eyes. She wore a slip and a kimono from Japan, red with yellow dragons. Aunt Edna wore cutoffs and a tee shirt.

They sat at the table, smoking and talking. The other kids had taken their fishing poles down to the river. I was supposedly reading a Nancy Drew book but I was listening to Mama and Auntie Edna.

"Well, nothing is ever easy, Edna. A woman just has to adjust," My mother was telling her. Auntie Edna said a bad word and broke off a piece of the Boston cream pie still left in the apple box.

"Edna, Baby Rose is in earshot...for goodness' sake, use a fork!" Quick like, Mama swipes the piece of pie-cake away and put it on a paper plate, grabbed a fork and handed the pie-cake back to Auntie Edna. Then, Mama looked at me.

I was lying in the crotch of an oak tree about six feet off the ground with my book open. I stared at the page, feeling her eyes watching me. Slowly, I turned a page. She went back to talking to Auntie Edna.

"You know, Edna, men and women are different. It is up to us women to set the moral climate." Mama sipped her coffee, thick with cream.

"Joe just doesn't seem to know he has to work, too. This idea of his is plain crazy. Nobody makes a dime writing books. It's nonsense." Edna shook her head and went to the cooler. As she picked out a beer, my mother coughed.

Auntie Edna turned, her hair the color of flames in the morning sun, and looked at Mama. She grinned and got an opener.

"For crying out loud, Edna, it's eight o'clock in the morning. If you keep drinking this slop, you'll be a disaster." Mama tucked her kimono under her white, round thigh.

"It's my vacation, Clarice, and I will if I want."

Mama looked at me; this time she caught me practically hanging out of my tree, listening to every word. I thought they might get into a fist fight or at least say mean things to each other.

"Baby Rose, get down and go look for the other children, we need to eat breakfast."

"Can I have a piece of cake, too? Auntie Edna did." I swung down, dropping near my aunt, just like a jungle cat. "Meow, meow. Please?" I rubbed my head against Auntie Edna's shoulder.

"Certainly not," Mama snapped just as Auntie Edna popped a hunk of pie-cake in my mouth.

"Scoot, Rose, now," Mama said, smacking my behind.

"Ow, ow, you broke my back," I whined, mouth full. She just pointed to the river trail. I went off at a slow pace, still thinking there might be more to hear.

Uncle Joe wanted to be a writer. Wow. What a good idea, I thought. Maybe he would write about being on the rodeo circuit when he rode Brahma bulls for a living. Once, Uncle Joe had got kicked in the head; he still had a dimple there where the hoof had cut him. I told him that it was wonderful that cows could make dimples too, not just God. Mama didn't care for that kind of logic, she said.

As I neared the river, I could hear the kids. All of them were standing around in the sunshine, shivering. Only my brother had on his underpants and they were wet. Two of my redheaded cousins were arguing. The other kids were pale and silent. My oldest cousin, Sean, pushed his brother,Ryan, in the face. Ryan socked him back right on the nose. Nosebleed.

"I'm supposed to tell you guys it's breakfast," I felt sort of weird, being the only one dressed. My brother looked at me and started toward the camp. Ryan hit him, too.

Poor old noodle. He just stood there, blood on his lip. I was mad as hell. I tore right for Ryan in a heartbeat.

First, I socked him in his white, freckled belly. Then, I stomped on his foot. Of course, being five years older did give him an advantage. Ryan threw me on the ground. My brother shouted to leave me alone; the two girls cousins began to holler and yell and pull his hair. Sean laughed, wiping his nosebleed on his arm. I was in a rage.

Just like one of those bulls Uncle Joe use to ride, I charged Cousin Ryan at full speed. This time I caught him off balance.

Down we went, me slugging him like crazy, him wet and cold and pushing me off. I kept yelling, "Geronimo!" Finally, he bit me on the hand. Hard.

And Auntie Edna and Mama arrived just in time to see my brother step into a punch thrown by Cousin Sean. Everyone knew my brother NEVER fought; he was too well behaved. Everyone gasped as Lance sunk to the sand.

"Oh My Lord, " cried out Mama rushing to his side. "Honey, are you okay?"

"I didn't mean it," Ryan said. "I was just...."

"Quiet, Sean, you, too," Auntie Edna said to the rest of the kids. Mama knelt and held my brother. Finally, he opened his eyes.

"Clarice, let me see him," Auntie Edna bent over and looked at my brother's pale face and big eyes. "His eyes are dilated, Sean must have hit him on the temple. By accident I'm sure. Anyway, he might have a concussion."

"I want to take him into Dr. Chain." Mama said, weepy because she couldn't stand to have anyone sick or hurt. "Say something, honey."

But my brother didn't say a word.

"You girls, get your dresses back on; you boys pull on your jeans. In the car, now." Auntie Edna shouted. "You, too, Baby Rose, hurry."

Auntie Edna and Mama carried my brother to the station wagon and laid him on the seat. We climbed in the back and sat down; no one said a word. Sean laid his head on his bent knees. I think he was crying. It smelled like wet dogs in the car with all us kids and wet hair, towels and other stuff. I felt like crying, too. No pie-cake and no breakfast.

Poor old noodle brother. Caught by a blow probably meant for me. I felt so bad that I started to gag. Mama turned around.

"Baby Rose, sit up, look straight ahead, and tell me the A thing you are going to put in your carpetbag."

I watch the redwoods whizzing by and tore my eyes back to the front. My stomach felt like Uncle Joe's must have after riding a bull. "Apple." I said, thinking about the Boston cream pie in the apple box.

"Ryan, B- you have the letter B-- what are you going to put in your carpetbag?"

"Baseball, Aunt Clarice. I'm sorry about..." Ryan put his head down.

"Don't worry, Ryan, he will be fine." Mama said. "Now, who is next? Maggie? You've got C. What is your C thing for the carpetbag? So far we've got an apple from Rose and a baseball from Sean. Maggie?"

"I want cornbread, I'm hungry." Maggie whined.

"Oh, dear, they've not eaten!" Auntie Edna said. It was still a long ways to town. Mama rummaged around and found an unopened bag of Mother's oatmeal cookies and passed it back to us kids. They were so good, even without milk. Almost as good as Boston cream pie-cake.

Well, of course, my noodle brother only had a knock on the head and had to sit around for three days. We stayed home. Everyone acted like he was at death's door. Not me, naturally. But I did give him my custards and let him read my book about the Old West.

The next day Auntie Edna returned to the camp to pack up. Then she rounded up her troop and went home. When Auntie Edna went back to San Jose, she got busy selling and buying houses. Mama said she was on a mission,setting a moral climate.

The cousins still fought between themselves and with me. But no cousin ever hit my noodle brother again. After that, all the kids were sent away to summer camps where somebody else could watch them go jungle, Mama said. Auntie Edna never camped again.

I heard that Uncle Joe had a story in a magazine. But then he started putting shingles on the rental houses that he and Auntie Edna kept buying and didn't write anymore.

"I'm passing my writing job on to you, Baby Rose," Uncle Joe told me at our Thanksgiving dinner, "because, Rose, you've got the best imagination of all the kids."

I knew in my heart he was right.

Born and raised in Humboldt County, RD Larson keeps close ties with the area. Although, living in the Gold Country now and spending part of the year at Puget Sound in Washington, Larson writes every day. She readily admits she is full of words rushing to get out. A collection of short stories about her childhood as a Warrior Woman in the Pacific Northwest, is available on her personal website: RD Larson. And a new story, "The Egyptian Official" will be up June 10 at Copperfield Review . Click Currently an article on historical fiction is up to read and a story called "Up From Gouge Eye to Rough and Ready" is available in the archives. Larson has been published online in deeplyshallow.com, Rear View Mirror, Sidewalks End, envy/judas.com, lovewords-ezine, and copperfieldreview. For more information or to be added to her mailings just email llarson419@aol.com