Again a heavy thunderstorm reminds me of camping holidays from my childhood: a wonderful 3 weeks in the Italian Alps with our frame tent. In my memory storms like these only occurred during the dark hours of the night, like they do so often here as well.
So, under the deafening sounds of torrential rains and thunder we would all get dressed and sit in the tent (ready to flee to the car, I guessed later). And while we were waiting until the worst was over, my dad did his inspection rounds to make sure everything remained dry inside. Or, when windgusts let the tent shake as if it could lift from the ground any moment, taking us and everything in it, he would pop out wearing a rain coat and holding a flash light to see if all the tent pegs were still in place.
Thinking back now I can imagine all kinds of things that could have gone wrong. But for some reason I never felt afraid then.
the smell of hay
buying yesterday's paper
in the campsite shop