When I was a kid, my parents were teachers and all their friends were teachers. No one had much money. So on weekends between March and November (and all through the summer), we camped and canoed on Southern Missouri’s scenic rivers.
There were about 10 families and over a dozen kids – 6 of us born in 1970. The group came to be called “Raindrops, Inc.” because it rained every time we ate chicken. We said “Fire in the hole!” when we left our seats around the fire, and that meant no one could take our spot. (Grown-up did this too, and were probably the ones who started it.)
Most of the kids married, moved away, and have families of their own. Now we just say “The Camping Bunch,” when referring to the group.
We sometimes saw each other during the holidays, but the entire group was never together at once — until there was a funeral. On that sad day we promised we would all see each other before the next funeral. This is the invitation I wrote for the reunion: