Chapter 1: The Unlikeliest Campers
“Beneath the Starry Canopy,” read the faded, hand-painted sign. It hung precariously from a squeaky wooden arch at the edge of what could, if one squinted, be called a campground. Beyond the arch, nature’s tapestry unfolded: a patchy field, three-and-a-half pine trees, and a pond that looked suspiciously like an oversized puddle. This was not the sort of place one would expect to find the city’s most notorious indoor people, and yet, here they were.
Meet Barry and Gladys Tinselbaum, longtime residents of Apartment 7G, Towerblock Estates, and sworn enemies of the outdoors. Barry’s idea of a wilderness adventure was eating yogurt after its expiration date. Gladys’s hiking boots had only ever touched the mall’s tile floors. But fate, and Barry’s brother’s wedding invitation, had brought them here.
Barry’s brother, Marvin, fancied himself a “nature guy” ever since he’d once Instagrammed a mossy rock. Marvin had chosen this offbeat location for his nuptials, promising a “magical ceremony beneath the stars.” Barry scoffed. Gladys packed six types of bug spray.
As the Tinselbaums arrived at “Beneath the Starry Canopy Campground,” they were greeted by a wiry woman with a sunburned nose and a smile wide enough for both of them.
Hiya! I’m Daisy. Welcome to our slice of the wild! Daisy chirped, as their sedan’s tires crunched over a pinecone. Your tent’s that-a-way—watch out for squirrels. They’re a bit… ambitious.
Barry glanced at the tent. It looked like a collapsed soufflé. Gladys whispered, I read that raccoons can unzip tents. Let’s sleep in the car.
But they had already been spotted, and retreat was impossible. So, the Tinselbaums braced themselves for what would become the most memorable weekend of their lives—though not, as Marvin had hoped, for any reason involving romance, starlight, or the magic of nature.
Chapter 2: The Tent Trials
It is a universal truth that tents, much like soufflés, are easier to collapse than to construct. Barry and Gladys discovered this fact firsthand. The “Easy Up 2000” tent came with instructions only in Swedish and a diagram that looked like abstract art. Barry grunted as he attempted to jab pole A into sleeve B, while Gladys fanned herself with the warranty card.
After several minutes and more than a few muttered curses, the tent stood. Well, “stood” is generous. It leaned at a 43-degree angle, as if deeply in thought. Gladys eyed it with suspicion. It looks like it wants to lie down.
At dusk, the campground came alive. Crickets chirped, a pair of distant loons crooned, and a squirrel the size of a football eyed the Tinselbaums’ snack bag with criminal intent. Barry, valiantly defending the Cool Ranch Doritos, became embroiled in a staring contest with the squirrel. The squirrel won.
Gladys, meanwhile, discovered the joy of portable toilets. She emerged from the outhouse looking as if she’d just witnessed the fall of Rome. Don’t ask, she whispered, clutching a travel-sized Lysol.
That evening, Marvin and his fiancée Penelope gathered all the guests for a “get-to-know-you” around the campfire. Barry, seated uncomfortably on a log, wondered aloud if it was too late to RSVP “no.” Gladys, ever the diplomat, smiled and sipped hot chocolate so scalding it rendered her tongue temporarily useless—an unexpected mercy as Penelope led the group in an a cappella rendition of “Kumbaya.”
Above them, the first stars appeared. Barry, who hadn’t seen the night sky unobstructed since 1994, felt a pang of wonder—then realized it was just a mosquito bite.
Chapter 3: Stars, Snacks, and Snafus
By midnight, the campfire had dwindled, and the party had dispersed. Barry and Gladys retreated to their tent, which creaked ominously in the night breeze. Barry zipped up the entrance and performed the time-honored ritual of searching for rocks beneath his sleeping bag. Gladys, armed with her phone’s flashlight and a can of insect repellent, checked every corner for intruders, both animal and otherwise.
Did you hear that? Gladys whispered, clutching Barry’s arm. Barry, already constructing a mental map to the nearest hotel, nodded solemnly. Yes. That was the sound of my last shred of comfort leaving my body.
But beneath the starry canopy, even city dwellers could not help but feel a touch of awe. The sky was ablaze with constellations. Barry, forgetting for a moment the ache in his back, pointed out the Big Dipper—then realized he was tracing an airplane’s path. Gladys pretended not to notice.
Sleep proved elusive. Every five minutes, the tent filled with sounds: distant owl hoots, the rustle of chipmunk feet, someone’s snores vibrating through the night like a jazz saxophone. And then, at 2:13 a.m., disaster struck. The ambitious squirrel made its move.
A rustle, a squeak, and then—chaos. The snack bag, foolishly left near the door, was breached. Barry lunged (as much as one can lunge from a horizontal position), only to find himself face-to-face with the squirrel, who had an expression that said, “You wouldn’t dare.”
Gladys, shrieking, grabbed her bug spray. The squirrel, a canny negotiator, retreated with three Doritos and an air of triumph. The Tinselbaums, however, knew they’d been bested.
I’m telling your brother, Barry muttered, as Gladys consoled herself with a slightly nibbled granola bar.
Chapter 4: Morning Mayhem
Dawn arrived suddenly and brutally, with a chorus of birds that seemed to have formed a death metal band. Barry awoke with a crick in three out of five major joints. Gladys checked her email, hoping for a message from civilization. No luck.
Breakfast was a communal affair. Daisy, the indefatigable camp manager, prepared “forest omelets” with eggs, wild mushrooms, and something she called “forest spice.” Barry, suspicious, poked at his plate. Is ‘forest spice’ a euphemism for twigs?
Peppered with laughter, the group settled into the day’s planned activities. Marvin, eager to facilitate “bonding,” announced a scavenger hunt. Find something blue, something round, and something that makes you feel alive, he instructed. Gladys found a blue bottle cap, Barry found a round rock, and both agreed the thing that made them feel most alive was the prospect of returning home.
The hunt led the group through the nearby woods, where Marvin shared dubious facts about trees, and Penelope pointed out wildflowers. Gladys collected pine needles for “souvenirs.” Barry amassed a surprising number of mosquito bites.
At the pond, the group paused for a “mindfulness moment.” Penelope led them in deep breathing, though Barry’s breaths were interrupted by sneezes. Gladys, eyes closed, envisioned a world where camping trips came with room service.
Chapter 5: The Inedible Dinner
As the sun dipped and shadows lengthened, Daisy announced a camp cook-off. Each group would prepare a dish using whatever they could forage. Barry and Gladys, raised on delivery menus, were at a distinct disadvantage.
After a brief, fruitless search for anything remotely edible, they returned with dandelion greens and a handful of the infamous “forest spice.” Barry’s attempt at sautéing the greens over the fire led to a small conflagration, which Daisy cheerfully doused with her water bottle.
The judging was merciless. Marvin and Penelope’s “Wild Mushroom Medley” won for “Most Likely to Be Mistaken for Real Food.” Barry and Gladys’s dish won “Best Effort,” which Gladys privately translated as “Thanks for Trying, City Folk.”
As the meal concluded, Gladys whispered to Barry, I would kill for a pizza. Barry, ever resourceful, checked his phone. No signal, no pizza. Civilization, it seemed, was farther away than ever.
Chapter 6: Wedding Under the Stars
Finally, the day of Marvin and Penelope’s wedding arrived. The guests dressed in their best “outdoor chic.” Barry wore a suit jacket over his cargo shorts. Gladys matched her hiking boots to a floral dress, a look she dubbed “expeditionary elegance.”
The ceremony took place beneath the campground’s lone, robust pine tree. Penelope floated down a makeshift aisle of pine cones, Marvin beamed, and Daisy officiated with the gusto of someone who had once married a couple in a canoe.
The vows were heartfelt. The rings were nearly lost in the grass. An uninvited duck waddled through the proceedings, adding a quack at a particularly poignant moment.
As dusk fell, strings of fairy lights illuminated the “reception area”—a picnic table draped with a tie-dye sheet. Barry and Gladys, exhausted but oddly content, toasted with lemonade and nibbled on cupcakes that tasted faintly of smoke.
As the newlyweds danced under the stars, Barry put his arm around Gladys. You know, he said, this isn’t so bad.
Gladys smiled. Don’t get used to it.
Chapter 7: The Midnight Revelation
After the festivities, the guests drifted back to their tents. Barry and Gladys, now seasoned campers, zipped themselves in and listened to the night. The squirrel returned, but this time, Barry tossed it a cracker and wished it well. Peace, at last.
Gladys looked up through the tent’s mesh roof and gasped. The stars, unfiltered by city lights, twinkled in impossible numbers. The Milky Way stretched across the sky like a spilled carton of glitter. Barry, for once, fell silent.
It’s beautiful, Gladys whispered.
It really is, Barry conceded. Maybe we should…
But Gladys interrupted. Don’t push it. One weekend. That’s all you get.
They lay together, hand in hand, beneath the starry canopy, feeling—if only for a moment—at home in the great outdoors.
Chapter 8: The Homeward March
Morning brought a flurry of packing, hugging, and one last run-in with the squirrel, who tried to stow away in Gladys’s suitcase. Barry lost a sock but considered it a fair trade for the squirrel’s silence.
Daisy waved as the Tinselbaums loaded up the car. Don’t be strangers! she called. Barry promised nothing. Gladys blew a kiss—half for Daisy, half for the hot shower she knew awaited her at home.
As they drove away, city skyline on the horizon, Barry rolled down the window and inhaled the scent of pine, smoke, and distant pond. He glanced at Gladys, who was already Googling “Best Tick Prevention.”
You know, Barry mused, we survived.
Gladys grinned. Barely. But next time, let’s camp somewhere with Wi-Fi and room service.
Barry agreed. But as the last of the stars faded from view, he couldn’t help but feel a tiny pang of nostalgia for the wild, wonderful, weird world beneath the starry canopy.
And somewhere behind them, a fat squirrel nibbled on a Cool Ranch Dorito, glad to have shared its kingdom, if only for a weekend, with the unlikeliest campers the woods had ever seen.
Chapter 9: Epilogue – The Return of the Squirrel (and Other Mysteries)
Back in Apartment 7G, the Tinselbaums settled into their old routines. Gladys took up birdwatching from their kitchen window. Barry claimed he could identify three types of moss—none of which grew in their potted fern.
Marvin and Penelope sent holiday cards from new adventures: kayaking, rock climbing, orienteering. Barry and Gladys responded with photos from their couch, sometimes wearing hiking boots for effect.
Every so often, Barry would gaze out at the city lights and remember the stars, the fresh air, the squirrel with the world’s most expensive taste in snacks. He’d nudge Gladys and suggest, just once, returning to the campground. Gladys would roll her eyes, but she kept the bug spray handy—just in case.
As for the squirrel, legend had it he became the campground’s unofficial mascot. Daisy named him Barry Junior and swore he could unzip tents and open soda cans. Guests left offerings of chips at the base of the big pine tree, hoping for a glimpse of his bushy tail.
And so, beneath the starry canopy and under the flickering glow of city lights, the story of Barry, Gladys, and their accidental adventure lived on—proof that sometimes, stepping outside your comfort zone means letting a little wildness, wonder, and maybe even a squirrel or two into your life.
The end.