Children’S Campfire Stories and Thoughts

By Robert S. Weil and Kenny Estrella

Many years ago, my family and I would make trips to the mountain campsites for our vacation. We found and, generally used, the campsite in the high country of Yosemite. It was named Camp White Wolf. There were several other campsites, but this was one where there were individual sites large enough to set up our large tent. There was what must have been a water runoff nearby, although usually dry when we were there. At the site, there was a picnic table and a rock-lined pit for a campfire. After we had set up our tent at our campsite, we would take walks to see and enjoy the beauty of the comfortable woods. The clean, cool air felt so very good on our faces.

The four children had their pleasure in climbing among the huge boulders. They would make games among themselves. Sometimes they would investigate the many different insects or small animals that they would see.

I carried a notepad with me. I would tell them to draw a picture of what they saw. Later, we would then check the books we had at home to find out about what they had seen. Every year there would be something different. One time, there was an eagle soaring among the trees, not having to flap its wings, using the mountains updraft to stay aloft. In the city where we lived, there were few of these wondrous sights.

Back at our campsite, we would set up a campfire carefully in the evenings. The fire pit was arranged so that the fires would be slightly below ground with rocks arranged to contain the fire. There was also a place on the picnic table for setting up our propane stove for warming a meal. Then we would gather around this campfire, and I would begin to relate stories that I knew the children would love to hear. I would make up these stories with certain moral parts that would give them a meaning to life. The children seemed to love to hear these stories. I enjoyed having their undivided attention.

Later, after we returned home in the city, I would take time to write down these stories from the campfire. I would have a different story each year; I dedicated each different story to one of the children. They enjoyed having their very own story.

I would tell the children to then draw a picture of what they thought the animal or insect might look likea picture that came from their own mindthen compare their pictures with those of the others and talk about the differences they might see in the pictures. They seemed to enjoy these exercises.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 29, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483629308

Robert S. Weil

Many years ago, my family and I would make trips to the mountain campsites for our vacation. We found and, generally used, the campsite in the high country of Yosemite. It was named Camp White Wolf. There were several other campsites, but this was one where there were individual sites large enough to set up our large tent. There was what must have been a water runoff nearby, although usually dry when we were there. At the site, there was a picnic table and a rock-lined pit for a campfire. After we had set up our tent at our campsite, we would take walks to see and enjoy the beauty of the comfortable woods. The clean, cool air felt so very good on our faces. The four children had their pleasure in climbing among the huge boulders. They would make games among themselves. Sometimes they would investigate the many different insects or small animals that they would see. I carried a notepad with me. I would tell them to draw a picture of what they saw. Later, we would then check the books we had at home to find out about what they had seen. Every year there would be something different. One time, there was an eagle soaring among the trees, not having to flap its wings, using the mountain’s updraft to stay aloft. In the city where we lived, there were few of these wondrous sights.

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Copyright © 2013 by Robert S. Weil.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 04/23/2013

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130938

CONTENTS

Introduction

Andy the Ant and His Princess

Truth/Loyalty

Where the Dog Got His Bark

The Adventures of Danny the Chipmunk

A Father’s Dream

She

Wiley Coyote

The Medal of Unselfishness

Fluffy’s Friends

The Brave Bluebird

How the Jack-o’-Lantern Became Golden

Our Animal Friends

Life Is

Rickie’s Treasure

A Baby Girl

Rumblings of an Old Man

Jack’s Beetle

Jack’s Fish Story

DEDICATION

Originally for my children, Susan Paula, William West, Robert Paul, and Lucretia Ayn, now including their spouses and children of the dated times. I love them all.

Dedicated to all children who love to read and hear fun stories.

INTRODUCTION

M ANY YEARS AGO, my family and I would make trips to the mountain campsites for our vacation. We found and, generally used, the campsite in the high country of Yosemite. It was named Camp White Wolf. There were several other campsites, but this was one where there were individual sites large enough to set up our large tent. There was what must have been a water runoff nearby, although usually dry when we were there. At the site, there was a picnic table and a rock-lined pit for a campfire. After we had set up our tent at our campsite, we would take walks to see and enjoy the beauty of the comfortable woods. The clean, cool air felt so very good on our faces.

The four children had their pleasure in climbing among the huge boulders. They would make games among themselves. Sometimes they would investigate the many different insects or small animals that they would see.

I carried a notepad with me. I would tell them to draw a picture of what they saw. Later, we would then check the books we had at home to find out about what they had seen. Every year there would be something different. One time, there was an eagle soaring among the trees, not having to flap its wings, using the mountain’s updraft to stay aloft. In the city where we lived, there were few of these wondrous sights.

Back at our campsite, we would set up a campfire carefully in the evenings. The fire pit was arranged so that the fires would be slightly below ground with rocks arranged to contain the fire. There was also a place on the picnic table for setting up our propane stove for warming a meal. Then we would gather around this campfire, and I would begin to relate stories that I knew the children would love to hear. I would make up these stories with certain moral parts that would give them a meaning to life. The children seemed to love to hear these stories. I enjoyed having their undivided attention.

Later, after we returned home in the city, I would take time to write down these stories from the campfire. I would have a different story each year; I dedicated each different story to one of the children. They enjoyed having their very own story.

I would tell the children to then draw a picture of what they thought the animal or insect might look like—a picture that came from their own mind—then compare their pictures with those of the others and talk about the differences they might see in the pictures. They seemed to enjoy these exercises.

ANDY THE ANT AND HIS PRINCESS

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For Susan Paula Weil

5 February 1948

I N A FAR, distant land, in a far, distant time, there once lived an ant named Andy. Andy was a tiny, little ant as seen by people of the land, but for the ants, he was large indeed.

Andy’s home was in the village of the ant’s nest, where it was warm and comfortable. Protected by heavy-armored guard ants, the village had nothing to fear.

All would carry on their daily duties, and there were many duties required. Some ants cared for the baby ants in the special village ant nursery. Some ants cleaned the village, tossing the daily refuse on the ever-growing anthill. While some ants stood guard against invaders, other ants would stream from the village each day in