June lake in northern California held mostly happy memories for me and Nick. We’d camped there as newlyweds, and now we were going back with our two kids. This time I packed for practicality instead of romance.
Back then plastic silverware just wouldn’t do, so I took some knives and forks from my brand-new flatware with a light pattern engraved on the handles. Nick and I enjoyed a lovely vacation, but when it was time to go I couldn’t find one of the knives. We looked and looked, with no luck.
“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” Nick told me on the way home. Eight years later I was still beating myself up over it. Lord, how could I have been so careless with a wedding gift?
“Here we are,” Nick said. The kids cheered. We pitched the tent and ate out under the stars. After dinner I washed the plastic dishes and utensils. I went to throw the dishwater in an appropriate spot, and noticed a tree that looked like it could use a drink.
Just as I was tipping the bucket to pour, a silver glint from the ground stopped me. My knife? Impossible. Yet that was my pattern, the engraving still intact. I picked up my long-lost gift, shiny and new, just like the day I’d packed it. Now all our memories of June Lake are happy.
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