Girl Scout Camping


When I was a girl scout in fifth -grade, my troop went camping. Our leader, Mrs. Condon, an army wife back from tour in Germany, had camped with her family all over Europe and wanted us to have the experience. In the meetings leading up to the trip, we prepared. We made sit-upons out of newspaper and shower curtains: mine was a textured opalescent pink, threaded together by royal blue yarn. We learned how to detect poisonous plants, hike without stepping on snakes, wash dishes in a mess line to minimize our water and detergent impact. We were taught to hang our provisions from a tree so bears or varmints would not have access to our supplies. In the woods, we were required to carry our water container everywhere we went. I borrowed my older brother’s tin canteen, with the screw top lid attached by chain. It had two dents on the side where he had dropped it years before and a long canvas strap that crossed over my chest. The water stayed cold and crisp, the contents shockingly refreshing.

I am in my own wilderness now, staying alert for snakes and bears and things that give me a rash. The only place I find peace is outside, in nature, among trees and wind. It is there I know I cannot control a damn thing. I am not responsible for decisions or strength or driving. I can breathe and release my thoughts that have knotted around my brain and heart. I am made to feel small but part of something big.
We have a reusable grocery bag stuffed to the top with get-well cards for Greg that arrived from all over the world. We have a calendar coordinating meals and visits and errands, an army of people dying to help. And we have a congregation praying and loving and carrying on. The problem is not in finding help; it is in accepting it, of being the person in need. My days tiptoe the tight-rope of strength for my family and desperate sadness for myself. We have all had our hearts broken open and worked on. As God slowly knits us back together, I will sit and drink and ask to be open.

One response to this post.

  1. This is beautiful. I hope that you will accept the grace of needing help. I understand how difficult that can be. Hugs.


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