Five Years a Writer

The beautiful Lake District in England What I remember most from the trip is getting lost on the hike my group had been sent on. The teachers had prepared us with lessons of how to read a compass and to site our way from landmarks, but once we were dropped off and left on our own, we took a wrong turn and, though we kept going, we were definitely lost. At the time, my family was living in Banbury, England, I was fourteen years old, and the hike took place during a 2-week stay at Kilvrough Manor near Swansea, Wales. Organized by my school, the trip away from home was to teach us about the region we were staying in and to give us exposure to nature and outdoor experiences. I kept a diary, which I dug out of my ‘memory box’ the other day to see if it might spark my remembrances of this school trip. Reading through the diary (written on loose-leaf hole-punched paper, bound with string between cardboard covers) confirmed for me that memory is fickle: It confuses, forgets and exaggerates