A Rock: Feel how solid it is. How smooth. How heavy. Like, really heavy. Good lord. Was your kid lugging it around all week? Is this the burden we all bear—lugging around rocks that we thought, for just a fleeting moment, were special? What rocks in our own backpack can we unload? And will your kid remember this particular rock and have a fit when they discover you threw it in the rockpile outside?

A Broken Stick: The stick is broken, barely hanging together. So is the world. You can take comfort in knowing that all things are broken. Your kid will probably not take such comfort. Is it better to conceal the broken stick or confront the reality of its brokenness? A difficult decision in much of life. But not here, since it’s just before dinner and your kid is already hangry.

Wet Bathing Suit: It is cool and damp. Let the coolness rest on your fingers. Let the vaguely moldy smell waft through your nostrils. Wonder whether this was the suit your kid wore Monday. How is it still in here? You have emptied the backpack completely twice and partially twice, so you couldn’t have missed it? Marvel at the mystery of the suit and the uncertainties of life. Wonder whether the mildewy smell will come out in the wash.

Gimp Bracelet (incomplete): Observe the twisting strands of color. Individually, they are weak and monochrome, but working together they are strong and vibrant. Ignore the clash of the colors and that one piece that’s braided incorrectly that could be fixed if you could just undo those last two stitches. Your kid would never know, and it would be fixed. But you would know. So you summon your strength to let the imperfection remain. (Probably.)

A Feather: Feel the feather’s softness between your fingers. Then feel the hand sanitizer you will need to remove the disgusting germs from them. What kind of bird was it? How high did it fly and what summits did it soar over? Was it covered in mites? The feather, in repeated motion, has allowed the bird to fly. It also, in repeated motion, has been thrown out by you and retrieved by your kid. You will remember to bury it deeper in the trash next time.

Half-Eaten Piece of Fruit: Observe the squishy peach. Or possibly apple. No, it’s definitely a peach. Your fingers squished through to the pit. Don’t we all have a solid core within our pliable exterior? Shouldn’t we all carry the seeds of the next generation within us? Shouldn’t this thing have been put back in its plastic bag or at least wrapped in a napkin? Ugh. Gross.

Crumpled “Important Updates” Info Sheet for Parents: Unfurl the ancient text bearing words of wisdom—about other kids’ severe nut allergies, important date changes, and payment schedules. Marvel at how the written word can transmit information across time. Note, disconcertingly, that this sheet is school letterhead, not camp, and that you are therefore reading it not days late, but weeks or months. Mull the passage of time. Do not mull the arguments that ensued due to the information you never received.

Another Rock: Feel the bumps and ridges on this second, less interesting rock, which was buried even deeper in the backpack. Feel less guilty about tossing this rock out, as you know it will land at least somewhat near its former backpack-mate in the rockpile outside.

Sand: Let the sand flow between your fingers. Consider how each sand particle, when seen up close, is its own intricate world. Ponder in amazement the vast number of these worlds making up every desert and beach. Ponder in even greater amazement the fact that your kid’s camp is in the woods, miles from any beach (or desert or other source of sand). How in the world did it get there? What the hell?

Empty Space (where a water bottle should be): Place your hand in the side pocket where your kid’s water bottle should be. Feel the emptiness. The lack. Practice non-attachment. Ponder getting a water bottle holder that will actually keep the water bottle attached to the backpack. Realize the futility of this and relax into the notion that at least a few of the water bottles will reappear in the lost and found.

You Guessed It, Another Goddamn Rock: Hurl that sucker right into the rockpile as hard as you can. Feels good.