Girl Scout Camping (May 30, 2008)

Girl Scout, but no camper!

                                                

     It was the summer of 1953; my best friend Helen and I, both age ten, eagerly applied to Girl Scout camp.  We had started Brownies together in the first grade, and this past year we had flown up to Girl Scouts.  We had always been in the same Brownie troop, but this year we were in separate Girl Scout troops.  I don’t think the separation was intentional. We were not rabble-rousers at our meetings; it just happened to be the way the girls had been divided for the two troops our class had.  Helen and I hoped that, even though we had not spent our year together at the meetings, we would still get to go to Girl Scout camp together.

     Our wish did not come true.  Helen was selected to go to Camp Bear Paw, while I was headed for Camp Timbertarn.  Helen said one of the girls in her troop was going to be at camp with her, but nobody from Davis was going to Camp Timbertarn with me.  I was very disappointed.

     Once I had accepted the fact that Helen and I were not going to camp together, I optimistically turned my attention to preparing for this adventure.  I said to myself, “After all, you’re not going to be alone at camp; there will be lots of girls from other towns and maybe I can make some new friends.”

     In preparation for camp, my parents took me shopping for camping supplies.  I got an official Girl Scout cooking set, which included a metal cup, spoon and a two-sided pan for cooking and eating.  I also got a brown sleeping bag, which was a heavy-duty cotton material.  They also bought a bag just like it for my brother in case he decided to go to Boy Scout camp.  The inside of the bag was red and white and black plaid, my favorite colors.  My dad’s favorite color (but not mine) was brown, but he said it would be very practical for camping because it would not show the dirt.  He was right about that. I also got one new outfit to take to camp.  It was a pair of brown slacks and a brown blouse.  We got an indelible black pen so that I could write my name on my camping supplies.

     Remarkably, those two sleeping bags still travel with my husband and me every time we go off in the RV.  My name still clearly appears in letters about three inches high on the outside of my bag.  Those brown sleeping bags still don’t show the dirt and they wash well in our washing machine.

     When the day came to head to camp, my folks drove me to the site in Sacramento where the bus was picking everyone up for camp.  I wore my new outfit.  I kissed my folks goodbye and climbed on the bus.  My excitement was growing.

     It was about a two-hour ride to camp.  When we arrived, we were each assigned a campsite and a camping buddy.  My camping buddy, Lisa, was a tiny little red-haired girl with lots of spunk.  I hoped we would become friends right away; unfortunately, her cousin had also come to camp and she preferred to hang out with her.  It wasn’t long before she began to complain about everything and everyone at camp, and in the first five days she broke out in a rash from head to toe.  Her parent’s were called and home she went.  My campsite was much quieter after that.

     We had crafts in the morning, which I really liked.  We went on hikes, which were also fun.  Every afternoon we headed to the lake for swimming and canoeing.  Everyone was given an identification medal to wear while we were at camp.  When we went to the lake, we had to hang our tags on a large bulletin board.  When we returned from the water, we retrieved our ID tags.  Once in a while someone would forget to claim her tag and the leaders would say it was time for a prayer for our drowned camp buddy. The negligent camper would then rush up to gather her tag and everyone would laugh.   I thought that was a little gruesome and not very kind.

     I wasn’t crazy about the outhouses and the cold water we had to shower in.  It seemed very cold just washing our faces. It was so unpleasant that I washed less and less often as the two weeks went by.  I also was not very good at serving food.  Everyone took turns serving throughout our camp stay.  I vividly remember the day I accidentally poured a whole bowl of green salad on a counselor; I really felt humiliated.

     When the two weeks were over, I was ready to head home.  I had not made any good friends at camp; in fact, it was very lonely having a campsite alone.  We loaded onto the bus and started home, but it broke down after an hour; we sat by the road for three hours waiting for a new bus to pick us up.  When we arrived back in Sacramento, my folks did not see me.  I was still wearing my little brown pants and shirt, but my folks said I was so covered in dirt they didn’t even recognize me.  It was my last trip to camp!