At the campground, four friends spend forty minutes selecting a site for one tent. One wants morning sun. Another wants shade. A third has read that the ground slopes toward the table. The fourth has already carried the stakes to three different places.

When a cloud passes overhead, the shade argument must be reopened. Someone sketches the sun’s likely path on a paper plate. Another walks the perimeter to check for roots, low spots, and an acceptable distance from the neighboring site.

The discussion is earnest because small choices do matter. A tent should be placed on an allowed surface, away from drainage channels and hazards, with consideration for other campers. But a good decision can turn into a committee meeting long after the useful facts are known.

They finally choose a level pad, set up the tent, and discover that the afternoon shade arrives there anyway. Dinner is late. Nobody minds much once they sit down.

In the morning, sunlight reaches the door exactly as one friend hoped. Another friend, who wanted to sleep in, pulls a hat over her face. The group takes down the tent without reopening the debate.

At the next campsite they make a rule: check the ground, check the rules, then give themselves five minutes to decide. The paper plate, retained as evidence of the first summit, becomes a remarkably good surface for breakfast.