Posted by tina on November 28, 2002, at 14:09:39
In reply to Re: Please read if you're over 40...or under : ), posted by Deb R on November 28, 2002, at 8:49:01
"Punch buggy" "The Wheels on the Bus" "99 bottles of beer on the wall"
Drumming your fingers on the back of a sticky green vinyl seat singing off key at the top of your lungs
watching the city landscape give way to a wild wall of trees and mystery
turning onto a long dirt track under an arch that says "Camp Something"
pulling into a clearing and filing off into designated tent groups assigned with the task of finding a flat spot without rocks so that the bottom of your nylon tent isn't cut to ribbons and your seemingly good night's sleep isn't turned into a tossing and turning battle with the earth's cast offs
checking your belongings are all there as fast as you can..not really caring if they are or not
changing into camp dress, the hat and sash with a dozen embroidered badges emblazened, proudly displaying to the rest of your tribe your skills and accomplishments like the hard won eagle feather or bears teeth on a brave's necklace or tunic
trailers, campers, tents and RV's
cookouts, bonfires, bbq's and coleman stoves
hot chocolate in sleeping bags
canned spaghetti
potatoes wrapped in aluminum foil. s'mores
felled trees set in a circle, kumbaya
wet socks, bug spray, ghost stories, "what's your name, where are you from?"
running barefoot to the outhouse at 2am in the dew-soaked grass with moonlight or flashlight guiding you there
clothes marked with your name
plastic collapsable dishes etched with your initials
toothbrush and soap in sealed plastic neon cases
cold water sponge baths....showers only fell from the sky
plastic wrapped matches and mini first-aid kits
bandaids-bug bites and bee stings all treated with the same little bottle of incredibly stinky "what the hell is this stuff?"
THE handbook....your bible, your late-night advisor, your encyclopaedia, your flower and leaf press, your diary,
your table leg shim so the wobble doesn't spill the warm juice balanced precariously on the edge of the largest crack in the top of the picnic table.
ponchos too big for anyone but sasquatch but your mom insisted on packing one anyway
the squashed, mushy "just in case" peanut butter and jelly sandwiches
scrapbook for sketching flora and fauna and for writing down the names of things that couldn't possibly be real
the rock and stone collection in your boots
the stick and grass collection in your hair
the mud-caked knees and fingernails....
standing in line under a sagging canvas lean-to, waiting for your plate to be filled with the best tasting canned spaghetti in the world and, eventhough it's been burned to the bottom of the pot, you're grateful that the warmth travels all the way to your toes
Leaning forward over your filled spoon to take a long inhale only to have a waterfall gush from the hood of your enormous poncho onto your dinner plate
Changing into your pyjamas while inside your sleeping bag because to do otherwise would mean shivering until your teeth broke and fell out.
Stuffing your clothes for morning into your sleeping bag while your sleep so they'll be warm in the misty half-dawn when the annoying cacophony of birds startle you from the deep satisfying dream-filled ecstasy of a sleep only camping as a child can produce.There's nothing like a weekend at Girl Scout camp.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~....and to think, most of today's kids haven't had the pleasure.....
Sad isn't it??
poster:tina
thread:764
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/2000/20020724/msgs/774.html