Friday evening,
January 8, 1999
Katie and I loaded up the car with our camping gear, said
goodbye to the menfolk, and headed for Matzke Elementary to meet the other
members of Girl Scout Troop #5506: Chris and Danielle; Debbie and Brianne;
Sheila and Heather; Renee and Nicole; Karen and Melissa; Toni and Jessica;
Autumn and Ershekka. We stopped at Kroger’ s on the way to buy ice. We got to
the school parking lot about 20 minutes before the other girls arrived, giving
us time for a quick bathroom stop at the school. The drive up to Camp Misty
Meadows, just north of Conroe, Texas, was fun. Katie and I munched on
“contraband” snacks—Potato Air Crisps and gum-filled “rainsticks.”
If I hadn’t known where I was going, I’d have been lost—I’ve
been accused of having a “lead foot,” but these other women drove FASTER! I
goofed once on I-45 and
got into a lane that ended in an exit. Toni was right behind me, but didn’t
recognize me so she wouldn’t let me back into traffic! Some kind stranger about
two cars behind us let me back in, and I caught up to the others quickly
enough. We had agreed to meet again at Wendy’s near the outlet malls, then to
caravan from there to the camp a few miles away. We were all surprised at how
cold and windy it was by the time we got there. We went inside for a quick
bathroom break, and when we came out again it was raining heavily.
At least we would be staying in heated cabins, or so we had
been told. Just a half mile or so down the highway, we found the entrance to
Camp Misty Meadows. It looked like a windy dirt road leading into the darkest
heart of the wilderness. I kept telling myself it couldn’t be all that bad or
they wouldn’t let a bunch of kids camp here in January. We checked in near the
gate, then drove on to the parking area. According to the map we’d been given,
our cabin cluster was about as far from the parking area as we could get. The
rain had almost stopped, and I think we all said a little prayer that it would
not start again until we’d had a chance to unload and haul our gear to the
cabins.
It’s very dark in the woods at night. And very quiet, unless
you’re with 9 little girls who are all flip- flopping between anticipation,
cold, excitement, fear, hunger, tiredness, restlessness, and pent-up energy.
The leaders told them to go grab some carts. The carts turned out to be great
big wooden boxes perched on two wheels—rusted rims that might have had tires on
them once, 30 years ago. For the first time that weekend, it occurred to me
that we looked like pioneer women lugging the Conestoga wagons after the horses
died. Renee, still recovering from surgery on her toe, was wearing a cast on
her foot. She pulled her own weight—and helped pull the carts—throughout the
weekend, putting some of us to shame. I’m not sure I’d have tried to go on a
camping trip, let alone this one, with a cast on my foot. Her bare toes looked
cold to the rest of us, but she assured us the cast kept them toasty warm.
Many of the wooden boxes had rotted or broken bottoms. We
found the best ones available, and started unloading the cars. The leaders had
told the girls that they had to do most of the work this weekend, and that they
were to haul their personal gear themselves—only the adults’ stuff was to go on
the carts. As Moms, we overlooked the fact that their sleeping bags and duffel
bags ended up on the carts along with everything else; it was enough that the
girls had to push and pull the unwieldy carts up the dirt path through the
woods to the cabins in the dark. We passed two other cabin clusters before
coming to a sign with the name of our cluster, “Low,” (for Girl Scout founder
Juliette Gordon Low) on it. The first building we came to turned out to be the
toilet and shower facilities. At least we would not have to use an outhouse or
chemical toilets—these were clean and modem. There were four toilets, three
shower stalls, and six sinks. The building felt warm, but I think only because
there were no open windows to let in the wind. On the outside of the building
there was a fire extinguisher. Inside, there was a supply closet with buckets,
brooms, and mops.
We waited outside while the Troop Leaders, Chris and Debbie,
inspected the cabins. They warned us of a muddy place right outside the first
cabin; Debbie had slipped and fallen in it. In a cluster of six cabins, our Troop
had three; we had all of Side A. The toilets and showers we would have to share
with campers on Side B, but they did not arrive until later Friday night.
The cabins were NOT heated. They were wooden structures with
wide windows on all sides. The windows were covered only with metal screens and
tarpaulins that could be lashed down on the outside to block some of the wind.
The floors were bare concrete, cold as ice. The roofs were made of sheet metal,
and there were lacy, blue-black patterns of mold on the inside ceilings. Each
cabin was partially divided into two sleeping areas with four cots on each
side. The cots were not uncomfortable, but their metal frames were beginning to
rust and mine creaked loudly in protest if I so much as inhaled deeply while
laying on it. We did, at least, have fluorescent ceiling lights and electrical
outlets; there were also electric fans for the summer campers, but we wouldn’t be
needing them!
We chose our cots, unrolled our sleeping bags, and stored
our duffel bags beside them. We grabbed our “sack dinners” and met at the
kitchen area. The kitchen area was a covered patio divided in two by cabinets
and wooden partitions. Inside the cabinets were pots, pans, skillets, metal
plates, and utensils. Blue plastic crates hung by ropes from the edge of the
roof provided space for drying dishes and cookware. At either end of the
divider was a small closet containing a shovel, a hoe, a rake, a hatchet, and a
saw. There were two large wooden picnic tables and benches on each side, two
rusty, soot-blackened grills, and a cold-water faucet provided clean running
water for washing and drinking. To the left of the kitchen area was the fire pit,
surrounded on three sides by low wooden benches. It was still raining, on and
off, so despite the bitter cold there was no talk of lighting a fire Friday
night. Katie and I dined on hot chili from a Thermos, garnished with diced
tomatoes, onions, and grated cheese. I made a small salad of the shredded
lettuce and diced tomatoes. I had forgotten to bring the tortilla chips up from
the car, but neither of us felt hungry enough to trek back to the parking area
for chips.
We shared the chili with Danielle and Nicole, since they
were the first to say how yummy it looked and weren’t shy about asking for
some! Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough for everyone—we were teased for not
bringing enough to go around, and I think ours was the only hot dinner eaten
that night. (Credit for the idea goes to Julia C., Katie’s violin teacher. She
and her family are veteran campers. She also loaned us a sleeping bag and two
spare blankets.) The girls were divided into three “patrols”: the lions, the
cheetahs, and – some other critters. Each team took turns at various daily
chores, such as fire-building, cooking, and cleaning. Katie was assigned to the
lion patrol. After dinner we went back to the cabins to settle in. Our cabin
mates had been assigned to us by the Leaders. Not everyone was happy with the
arrangements at first; one of the girls was in tears and the first of a few
catty remarks were whispered among some of the moms and even some of the girls.
Autumn and Ershekka were assigned to separate cabins (their
mother had not come with them, so I assume that had to do with the ratio of
girls to adults). Conspiracy, rebellion, and open defiance had been a joke
before we left—some of us threatening to bring steaks to grill or Kahlua to
flavor our camp coffee, or making midnight runs to the nearby Wendy’s if the
girls dropped our dinners on the ground by the campfire while they cooked. Now
there was precious little humor in it—the conditions seemed ridiculously harsh
for a bunch of 9 and 10 year old girls (and their mothers!), and none of us could
see anything “fun” about this adventure yet. For better or worse, we were
captives; the camp gates were locked at 10.
At first, the girls behaved as if it were a slumber party.
They got into their jammies, pushed their cots together, and tried to play games
and tell “ghost stories.” Not one brave soul in the bunch, they decided to skip
the scary stories and play charades. Autumn acted out the word “moon” by
“mooning” the others. Some of them pretended to be highly offended, but they
all got a good giggle out of it. All I could think was how brave and silly this
girl was—after all, it was already below freezing! I could hardly stand the
thought of taking my clothes off to dress for bed! We had arrived at camp just
before 8 PM, but by the time we finished dinner and headed for the cabins it
was almost midnight. Everyone was tired and cold, and before long even the
girls wanted to crawl down into their sleeping bags, tuck their heads in like
turtles, and go to sleep. Katie had fun arranging her sleeping bag and extra
blanket, and seemed warm enough once she was situated. We roomed with Karen,
Melissa, and Ershekka.
Karen and her daughter, Melissa, had brought sleeping bags,
but nothing really warm to wear. They dressed in layers, but it was layers of
short sleeved t-shirts and shorts. Karen swore to me that she wasn’t cold, but
I felt colder just looking at her. Autumn and Ershekka had nightgowns and satin
slippers. Their sleeping bags were fine for living room slumber parties, but
not enough for the dead of winter. Their mother, for medical reasons, had not
been able to come with them, and we all tried to look out for them as best we
could, but most of us hadn’t brought much warmth to spare. Hypothermia was a real
worry. We turned out the lights.
The girls giggled and made noises for a while. They even
sang the theme songs from Teletubbies and Blue’s Clues, then started talking
about serial killers who stalked defenseless girls camped out in the middle of
the woods. Karen and I were the only ones who had actually SEEN the Friday the 13th
movies, and we started making Mrs. Voorhees’ theme noise at each other—”hee hee
hoo boo. . . hee hee boo hoo.. .“ I said that anyone who overheard us and
hadn’t seen the movie might think one of us was about to give birth. Karen
giggled. The girls didn’t exactly “get it,” but pretty soon everyone got the
creeps just from talking about scary things that go bump in the night and
agreed to settle down and be quiet.
Outside, an icy wind raced through the trees. Inside, my legs
felt cold as marble right down to the bone. I thought, “Now I lay me down to
sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake.., at
least I won’t have to get out of this sleeping bag, find the flashlight, and
trudge to the bathroom in the cold.” I hoped that Katie would be all right, and
wondered if we should’ve tried to sleep in one sleeping bag to share some body
heat. The temperature outside fell to below freezing. At 2:00 AM, I woke up and
realized I hadn’t died in my sleep. I was disappointed, though, that I had only slept for about an
hour, and that there were many more hours to go until daylight, and that I
really WAS going to have to pull on my shoes, grab the flashlight, and check
out the bathroom facilities.
The wind was really loud, but it didn’t sound like it was
raining. Damn—if it had been 5:00 AM, I might’ve been able to lay
there and put it off until sunrise. Then again, it wasn’t likely to be any
warmer at sunrise, and it might be raining then. The cot creaked loudly as I shifted
my weight and sat up to put on my shoes. It shrieked when I stood up. I thought
surely it would wake everyone in the cabin, but they all seemed to be sleeping
soundly. I wondered for a moment if they had all frozen to death in their
sleep. I checked on Katie, and was relieved to see that her breathing was
steady and she wasn’t huddled in a ball trying to stay warm. The extra blanket
in her sleeping bag must have helped some. She looked comfortable enough. Her
cheek felt warm. I gasped as I opened the cabin door and the cold wind hit me
in the face. The bathrooms were just
two cabins away, and I walked quickly, careful not to slip in the muddy
place next to the first cabin.
The bathroom was warmer than the cabins. The Troop Leaders
had brought toilet paper and the toilets flushed—in circumstances like these,
one can be inordinately thankful for small blessings. On my way out, I
discovered a small heat lamp in the ceiling, located the timer switch, and
turned it on. The coils began to glow. I stood under it for several minutes;
the warm glow felt so good I didn’t want to leave. But I was tired, too, and
knew I’d need a few more hours’ sleep before starting the day. I hoped that the
timer worked properly, that the heat lamp wouldn’t overheat and set fire to the
bathrooms, but I didn’t spend a LOT of time worrying about it.
When I got back inside the cabin, the girls were still fast
asleep. One of them murmured something; another snored. Karen shined her
flashlight in my eyes and whispered to me that she hadn’t been able to get to
sleep at all. “Have a Triscuit,” she said. “Would you like a Pepsi, too?” We
munched Triscuits, spicy bacon rinds, and Snackwell cookies for the next 30
minutes, savoring our guilty pleasures. We had been told by the Troop Leaders
not to bring snacks, and that we weren’t supposed to have food inside the
cabins. I could imagine Debbie scolding us, saying, “What kind of an example
are you setting for the girls?” Looking back, I think maybe the girls set a
better example for us in some ways, and I’m very proud of Katie. She handled
herself responsibly and with surprising maturity all weekend. I saw a side to
her that I HOPED existed, but didn’t expect to see surface for years to come.
Finally, I had to get some sleep, so I padded back to my own
cot on the far side of the room, took off my muddy, sandy shoes, and crawled
back into my turtle-shell of a sleeping bag. I closed my eyes and drifted back
off to sleep, hoping sleep—and morning—would come quickly.
Saturday morning,
January 9, 1999
At 5:00 AM, I had to make another trip to the
bathroom. I figured I might as well take my toothbrush along and start getting
ready to face the day. It was still dark, still cold, still windy. It was
another two hours before anyone else got up. There wasn’t much to do but lay in
bed and think warm thoughts. Once everyone woke up and got moving, we started a
charcoal tire in the two grills in the kitchen area.
The lion patrol—Katie’s team—was to do the cooking. We dined
on sausage and eggs scrambled with diced potatoes. It was very tasty. The
cleanup patrol had to wash all of the cookware, dishes, and utensils in three
buckets of water, but that would have to wait until after horseback riding. By
the time we were done building a fire to cook over, cooking breakfast, and
eating breakfast, it was time to go to the barn. I longed for a microwave or an
automatic dishwasher!
Katie’s toes were ice cold; her lips were purple, cracked,
and blistered. I was worried that she was showing early signs of frostbite. I
held her foot in my hands and tried to rub some color back into her toes, but
they were white and no amount of rubbing made them pink again. I hadn’t
realized how thin her socks were, but they were too thick to double up and fit
into her shoes. I gave her a pair of mine. I told Chris, Debbie, and Renee
about my fear that Katie was developing frostbite, and they suggested wrapping
her feet up in plastic bags. Katie didn’t want to wear grocery bags on her
feet, but I told her it was better than losing her toes to frostbite. Debbie
and Renee also made her go back to the cabin, change into her flannel jammies,
and put her jeans back on over them. Renee loaned her a woolen cap that covered
her neck, too.
I prayed that I wouldn’t have to rush Katie to the hospital
later. Was I committing child abuse by letting her stay here at all? Katie
asked me if she got frostbite, would the doctors try other things to save her
toes before they cut them off? I assured her they would, if they could, but
asked her if maybe it was time to call it quits and go home now. No, she
insisted that her feet already felt warmer and that she’d be okay.
There was another bit of excitement Saturday morning—Autumn
found a mouse in her duffel bag! One of the girls caught it and let it go
outside. Later, we heard that it had met up with campers on the other side of
our cabin cluster, and we hoped it stayed there or ran off into the woods! We
headed off to the barn. The adults who wanted to were allowed to ride, too. We
had to wear borrowed boots and helmets, neither of which were comfortable. I
made a small protest—after all, my riding instructor had told me years ago that
I did a better job of keeping my heels down in tennis shoes than I did when I
wore boots, and adults are not required by law (as are children) to wear
helmets. I would definitely wear a helmet if we were going to jump, but some of
these girls had never ridden a horse before! We weren’t likely to trot, let
alone jump. But I wore the battered boots and ill-fitting helmet because I
wanted to ride.
“This is Girl Scout Camp,” one of the counselors reminded me
with a smile that mixed patronizing with slightly sympathetic. “I’m starting to
‘get it,” I thought. Girl Scout Camp was survivalist boot camp for little
girls. We got about 30 minutes of basic riding instruction in the ring—”Walk
on,” “Easy now,” and “Whoa!” were the key words. They showed us how to mount
and dismount. (It was all slow motion—no flying dismounts for this class!) I
rode Bud, a golden appaloosa, and Katie rode Sniffer. Both were beautiful
horses and very well-behaved. It looked at first like I would have to ride
without stirrups, since the girls in charge couldn’t adjust them long enough
for my legs. But another girl came over and fixed the problem just before we started
to ride.
Proper spacing and pacing of the horses on the trails was
important, so we were told that if we could look between our horse’s ears and
see the hooves of the horse in front of us, we were fine. Otherwise, we were to
pull back and release the reins while saying “easy now” or “whoa.” We left the
ring and made two painfully slow circles through the woods, then the ride was
over. I wanted to break away from the line and take Bud for a good canter
across the field, but figured they’d have me mucking out stalls for a week if I
tried it.
Katie did a good job of controlling Sniffer and looked good
sitting tall in the saddle. I thought what fun it would be for her—maybe for
the two of us—to take lessons somewhere close to home where we might really be
allowed to ride and she could experience the thrill of a good gallop across an
open field. By the time we hiked back to the cabin cluster, Karen and Melissa
had called it quits and gone home. I never even had a chance to tell them
goodbye.
After the cleanup patrol did the dishes, using water heated
over the campfire, the Troop Leaders showed the girls how to cook grilled
cheese sandwiches on the foil-lined bottoms of upended coffee cans. The cans
had vent holes cut into their sides, and were placed over “buddy burners”—small
cans (like tuna cans) filled with cardboard strips and paraffin wax. The
firestarters (lion patrol) lit the burners. Katie learned how to strike a match
and start a fire. The fires had to be tended carefully—some burned too hot, some
went out too soon and had to be relit. But miracle of miracles, it is indeed
possible to make a grilled cheese sandwich this way! If the sandwiches hadn’t
gotten chilled by the frigid air on their way to the table, they’d ‘have been
delicious! There were baked beans and chips, as well. These little stoves are
designed for single use, so they didn’t have to be washed. But the baked bean
pot, dishes, cups, and silverware had to be scrubbed. Again, water was heated
over the campfire. One pan of hot, soapy water was used for scrubbing. One pan
of hot clear water was used for rinsing, and a final bath in chlorinated water
insured disinfection.
Some of the girls soon got dishpan hands from scrubbing and
scouring cookware in the cold. I checked Katie’s feet again, and they looked
fine—a nice, healthy pink. Her lips were another story. By now, there was a red
ring of dermatitis around them from where she’d been sucking them into her
mouth, trying to alleviate the dryness. I told her to use some more Neosporin and
stop licking them. I didn’t mean to lecture—I was worried and hated to see her
in pain. But Katie bristled like a porcupine and I backed off. She did use the
Neosporin, though, and her lips looked better by Sunday. As of Tuesday, they
still had a long way to go towards healing.
Toni and I were asked to go find some pine cones, since I
had forgotten to bring any from the back yard. We found a good supply of them
near the swimming pool; many of them were still attached to small, dried
branches. We brought back about twice as many as we needed. Later, she and I
were asked to go into the woods to find more firewood. Renee had brought a box
full of good logs, but the idea—I guess—was to live off the land and fend for
ourselves as much as possible. It occurred to me that I should be glad the
Troop Leaders brought food and didn’t make us forage for tasty bugs. We found
lots of good, dry wood. Most of it was covered in greenish gray tree fungus,
which burned but produced a lot of smoke. Once I realized that, I started
trying to scrape it off before tossing it on the fire. I got a little pickier
about what we bothered to carry back. Because Toni and I sneaked off now and
then to the parking lot for a cigarette, Katie assumed that’s where we’d gone
each time we disappeared—even though I usually mentioned to her what we were
doing before we headed off on one of our “hunting and gathering” trips into the
woods.
Katie told me, three days after we got back to civilization,
that she wished I’d spent more time with her. I wanted to cry. I felt like I’d
failed “Mother/Daughter Camping 101,” even though I’d have wimped out and gone
home Saturday morning if not for the fact that I love my daughter and she kept
insisting she wanted to stay! I was sorry we hadn’t spent more time together,
too—but I hadn’t wanted to push it. For a professional communicator, I’d done a
lousy job of communicating with my own daughter all weekend. Maybe longer.
It seemed to me that every time I tried to spend time with
Katie, she shrugged me off to busy herself with some chore or a game with her
friends. I didn’t think that she was angry with me or that she didn’t want me
around, but she didn’t seem inclined to chat and acted irritated when I put an
arm around her for a hug. I didn’t want to embarrass her with unwanted displays
of affection. I wanted to give her time to play with the other girls when they
weren’t too busy working. Offers to help her with her chores were usually
turned down, maybe because the Leaders had so often said that the girls were
supposed to be doing all the work themselves and learning all these skills. And
we mothers had work of our own to do, as well. And maybe I didn’t offer to help
enough, because my “help” so often turned into subtle criticism—”you should be
adding smaller pieces, the fire’s going to go out if you pile all those big
ones on it”—or unwanted advice—”be careful, don’t cut yourself doing that!”
Knowing that, and seeing how well Katie handled her work
without my interference, maybe I backed off TOO much and made her do TOO much
by herself. Now and then she asked me to do a little something for her, like
fixing her a hot chocolate, which I was always happy to do. I thought maybe she
felt that if she leaned on me just a little, she’d end up leaning on me more
than she wanted to. Or maybe I was afraid we’d both end up admitting we were in
over our heads and head home—I wanted to go home, but I didn’t want Katie to
feel as if she had to go because I wanted to. I dont know—but I do know that if
she had told me how she was feeling, or if I had told her how I was feeling,
maybe we could have worked out ways to make more time and fun together, just
the two of us. We were longing for the same thing, but were unable to tell each
other.
Saturday afternoon,
January 9, 1999
We made bird feeders out of pine cones, peanut butter, and
birdseed. The girls had fun spreading peanut - butter over the pine cones and
rolling them in a pan full of birdseed. Brianne made a feeder out of a wooden
stick, too. We put the feeders on newspaper. After everyone had washed their
hands, the girls took them out on the trail and stuck them up in the branches
of trees. They made a human pyramid and I took a picture of them. For a little
while, everyone was smiling, happy, and having fun.
Renee tended the fire most of the day, and it made a warm
and pleasant gathering place. Katie helped her to break some of the larger
branches we’d dragged back to camp, usually by propping an end on the bench and
jumping on the weakest spot. Sometimes they had to saw their way through the
thicker ones, using the dull camp saw. Katie enjoyed breaking the wood and
helping to keep the fire going. She didn’t play at it or idly poke at the coals
as so many of the girls did, and I never felt that she was putting herself in
danger.
Watching my daughter, I saw plenty of proof that she was
capable, trustworthy, and resourceful. After what seemed like hours of trying
to get everyone organized and together in one place, we set out on a scavenger
hunt. Katie and I had made up lists. Mine was a little more detailed (probably
too detailed, but that’s also probably why the Leaders chose to use it instead
of Katie’s, thinking it had more “educational value”). It was already late
afternoon, and the sun was just above the treetops. We divided into two teams
and hiked around two circular trails in opposite directions, making something
of a figure 8. The girls brought back some of the items they found, those they
could fit into pockets; others they left in the woods. We saw animal tracks and
decided they were bobcat or mountain lion tracks. That was a little spooky. I
reassured the girls that bobcats weren’t all that big and wouldn’t attack
humans unless they were cornered, scared, or terribly hungry. I hoped I was
right.
Autumn wrote down names and descriptions of objects found,
using our backs for a writing table. We gathered up sticks and small logs for
firewood on the way back to camp. Never come back empty handed! By the time we
got back, it was cold again. Katie had lost one of her gloves. After her
hunting desperately around the camp, sure someone had taken it, I remembered
chiding her for carrying it in her headband, slung over a large branch she was
hauling back for firewood. I groaned—the last time I was sure I’d seen it, we
were way out on the trail.
Now, it was cold and dark—even if it was out there, I might
never spot it. I told Renee what I thought, and she grabbed her flashlight. It
put out a nice, strong beam of light, giving us about twice the visibility of
mine. Amazingly enough, she spotted the glove just past the first bend in the
trail, and we headed back to camp. I wanted to scold Katie for being so
careless, but I was mainly relieved that her hands weren’t going to freeze that
night. I asked her if she remembered me telling her that carrying the gloves
that way wasn’t such a hot idea. She did. I told her where I’d found the glove,
and she apologized.
A little while later, she traded her gloves for Brianne’s
mittens, and shortly after that, one of the gloves was missing again. I wanted
to scream. The missing glove was soon found again, but I wondered if it had
occurred to Katie that fingers could be lost to frostbite as easily as toes. It
wouldn’t be easy to replace a pair of gloves out here; I doubted anyone had
brought a pair to spare.
The cooking patrol was busy by now cutting carrots, green
peppers, and onions for our “foil dinners.” Some of the girls had too little to
do, and they began poking at the fire. Sparks from the fire drifted up into the
night. One girl would poke at the fire from one side of the grate, sending a
small, glowing log rolling out towards a girl on the other side of the grate.
They stared, fascinated, into the flames.
I was so cold that I fantasized
about plunging my hands into the glowing coals. I could only guess what was on
their minds, but the constant teasing and poking at the fire was making me, and
several other mothers, nervous. They would stop when asked, only to start
poking again, 20 seconds later. “Aren’t the stars gorgeous out here?” I asked
Toni. “You can’t see stars like this near all the lights of Houston.” “C’mon,” said Toni. “Let’s go look at the
stars.” It was an order to the girls standing idly by the fire, not a
suggestion. Katie, Jessica, Autumn, Ershekka, and Danielle followed us onto the
grassy hill far from the fire pit. We laid down on the ground and looked up at
the stars, trying to name the constellations. Toni suggested that the girls try
to find their own constellations and give them new names, just as early
astronomers had done. Then the girls got up to dance, do gymnastics, and sing,
putting on a silly talent show for us while we held our flashlights on them and
clapped.
September 24, 2007
I never did finish writing about
Girl Scout camp. Suffice it to say we survived. For a while, we were
inordinately proud of our “pioneer spirit.” I even asked for (and got) a grill
for my birthday that year because I had such fond memories of watching Katie
cook bacon over an open fire. I was disappointed, at first, that it was a
propane gas grill – I had visions of building a fire pit in the back yard,
cooking a whole pig in taro leaves for a neighborhood luau, or something. But I
was still having PTSD flashbacks to that frigid wind and hearing voices chide, “That’s
NOT the Girl Scout way!” eight years later.
And now, William had joined Boy
Scouts. He persuaded me by saying it would give him opportunities to do
volunteer work. And he liked it – he enjoyed camping out, even in the cold, the
wind, and the rain – in a tent.
The “Family Camp-Out” was fast
approaching. How could I say no to my son, having gone on a mother-daughter
camp-out with Katie?
September 21, 2007
For weeks, I’d been stocking up on camping supplies. I was
tempted to buy ski jackets and woolen underwear, but the weather forecasters
were predicting highs in the upper 90s and lows in the upper 60s, so I packed
shorts and t-shirts and tank tops and bathing suits. I bought a tent, a
sleeping bag, a self-inflating pad, a camp stove, a 5-day cooler, a folding
chair, propane tanks, plastic containers, a cast-iron skillet, an aluminum
coffeepot – J.J. teased that if a hurricane roared up the Gulf and knocked our
house down, we could live in my tent and survive on my supplies until it was
rebuilt.
I got checklists from Sue D. and programmed David V.’s cell
phone number into speed-dial on my cell phone. David’s a colleague of mine who
used to be a park ranger where we were camping; as it turned out, he and his family had plans
to camp at Lake Somerville the same weekend. I think he may have suffered just
a moment’s regret about telling me that…
Anyway, by the time we left on Friday, I was (surprisingly)
starting to look forward to our trip. I stuffed all the gear into my Honda
Accord and had just enough room for William and me. If J.J. and Katie wanted to
go, we’d need two or three cars. We were to leave as a group by six, which
meant we’d be on the road by 6:30 PM. That guaranteed it would be dark by the
time we got to the lake. I had practiced pitching the tent in the back yard, on
a sunny afternoon, but I had visions of spending Friday night in my car. Mr. R.
assured me that someone would help me set up my tent. “You should be here when
we make the boys pitch tents blindfolded,” he said.
Finding a good spot by moonlight and a lantern is tricky. “Make
sure there are no anthills,” advised Mr. L. Anthills. Hmm…hadn’t thought of
that, yet. Thanks. Spiders,
mosquitoes, coyotes, and now fire ants. What next?
Something screamed in the dark. Gnats swirled around the
lanterns, so we shut them off.
Scoping out the bathroom facilities – that’s “what next.” A
semi-private bush would’ve worked just fine, by this time. I envied the guys
that, just a little. Someone kindly pointed towards a light off in the
distance, down a barely visible road. Barbie kindly went with me. We didn’t
bother with lanterns or flashlights, so we had to walk carefully, lest we step
in a gopher hole. Or a snake hole. I hope those really were gopher holes,
because if I was out there sleeping with snakes that big…
The women’s room was clean, stocked with toilet paper, and
full of tree frogs.
When I say “full of tree frogs,” I meant it gave a whole new
meaning to the expression, “When frogs fly out my butt.” Or into it. We had to
kick the commodes to evict the frogs before we sat down. Just the thought of
having tree frogs jump up between my legs was almost enough to make me hold it
in for the next seventy-two hours. Several small green frogs with bright yellow
polka dots had taken up residence in the paper towel dispenser, and a few
lurked in the folds of the plastic shower curtain that served as the door to
one of the stalls. On any given night, there were at least twenty to thirty
little green tree frogs climbing the walls or poking their heads out of holes.
Looking back, I think they kept the spider and mosquito
population down.
But like I said, the facilities were clean and well stocked,
and I’m not particularly freaked out by frogs, so it was fine.
With a little help from Mr. L. and Mr. R., I managed to
pitch the tent. Barbie and I checked on the boys, then settled down for the
night.
I was restless. I crawled back out of the tent in my
stocking feet, and headed down towards the lake. The moon was less than a week
from being full; it was so bright that the stars were barely visible. I heard
the croaking of frogs, and an occasional splash – fish?
An unearthly scream shattered the quiet.
“Hello.”
Holy cats. I about jumped out of my skin.
“Hello. Who is that?”
“Mike.” He was lounging in a chair, gazing at the night sky.
I plopped down on the grass, forgetting to check for gopher
(snake) holes or fire ant mounds. Something brushed across my forehead. Just a hair, no doubt.
Another scream.
“What’s that?” I asked, trying to sound coolly interested,
unafraid.
“Geese.”
Plop. Splash. Screeeeeeeeeam!
Of course. Geese. Why
didn’t I think of that? Evil, red-eyed, vampire geese on the prowl for
unsuspecting campers in the wee hours of the morning…tossing the bones into the
lake after they sucked out all the marrow… An overactive imagination is an
occupational hazard for us writers. When you’re as filthy rich as Stephen King,
and you make your living writing horror novels, people call it “eccentric” and
pretend to be fascinated. When you’re a wife and mother of two kids, and make
your living writing technical documentation, people tend to make circular
gestures with their forefingers at their temples, and whisper things like, “Batty
as that bridge in Austin.”
We talked for a short while and watched for the Space
Station, or shooting stars, or planes. Finally, fresh air and a long day got
the better of me, and I crawled back into my tent for the night.
(to be continued)
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