I remember camping under pine trees. This was the third or fourth year the family had been camping and we had learned that when it rained people sleeping at the edges of the tent had to scoot away from the side of the tent so that water would not be wicked thru the canvas and soak your sleeping bag--we had my brother to thank for this lesson--it would be interesting to know what his dreams were on that occasion as he slept against the side of the tent and the pressure plus the material of his sleeping bag drew so much water inside that it got my pillow wet also. The tent was small and the family was packed in a certain order. My father always slept by the tent door, to repel bears and dangerous things. Then my mother next to him (they had a double wide sleeping bag). My little sister next to her, in the centermost part. Then me, at the back of the tent. My brother slept at right angles to the rest of the family on the right side of the tent. This arrangement allowed a four inch wide aisle along the heads of the sleeping bags and a small space in front of the door (zipper-closed mosquito netting and a flop down flap that could seal the door against weather or be tacked up to make a shaded patio). So we were in this beautiful spot under pine trees. All night the pine needles softly fell, kissing the tent. I dreamed it was raining and scooted away from the wall, and kept on scooting until I had squashed my poor sister and driven my father out of the tent early to make pancakes for breakfast.