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A Sunny Day
I was sitting on a log enjoying the hubbub of 1100 Scouts and adults having fun, when up came two Scouts in Canadian uniforms. They sat down next to me and began drinking Cokes they had just bought at the trading post. These guys were about 11 and, by way of opening a conversation, I asked them who they would rather be, an Indian or a Civil War soldier. They both opted to be Indians, but neither felt like dancing at that very moment. They then told me of their hometown in Ontario and the excitement that that felt to be here in the States for the camporee. Theirs was a traditional troop of all boys, though, they said, many Canadian troops are coed. They had come down on a bus the previous day and were amazed to be this far from home. I asked them how deep the snow was at home this time of year and whether they often had black fly pie for dinner. They in turn asked me if we got Jay Leno on the TV down here, and mentioned that Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky were much in the news where they come from. Then they pulled out their pocket change and showed me a dime and a quarter from the United States, as if these were curious and novel items that I might like to see. Finally, my new friends left to get in line to go on the boson's chair and I wandered over to watch this gizmo in operation for a while. The boson's chair was a wooden plank attached by ropes to a pulley that traveled on a long wire stretched 20 feet above the ground between two trees. To move the chair, the rider had to pull hand-over-hand on a rope, and the chair then gradually traveled from one tree to the other. At that point, another rider got on board and the chair then makes its slow way back to the starting point. Nine times out of ten the ride went smoothly and was boring to watch, but every once in a while, the rider would loose his balance on the primitive chair and it would flip over. Then it was very interesting indeed to see how the young rider dealt with adversity as he hung upside down in the safety harness attached to the seat. The accident victims always managed to right themselves and continue, despite the jibes and advice of friends, but the chance that it could happen to you kept the lines to try the bosun's chair long and the atmosphere festive. I wandered away after a while, thinking to myself how the boring ride of some would soon be forgotten while the topsy-turvy ride of others would long be remembered. And it dawned on me that, perhaps, this almost too perfect day might be like that --- soon forgotten for lack of the spice of adversity. Where the water cascaded from the lake over a small waterfall, some boys from Baltimore were throwing leaves in and watching them go over the edge. As I strolled up behind them, I picked up a large pebble, threw it up into the air and said loudly, "Look at that trout!" They all turned at the sound of my voice to see where I was pointing, and so didn't see the pebble as it hit the water. When they did turn round, there was just a big splash where the trout had been. One kid said, "Wow!" Another said, "Aw, I missed it." A third looked at me suspiciously, then said, "Yeah, right." I smiled and we all laughed. By now, it was getting on toward dinner, and I started to walk back to camp. As I went, I fell into step with Ron Kopko, who had had a much more memorable afternoon than I. Each year at this camporee they have an Iron Scout competition, and Ron had been one of the adult runners that afternoon. He had lead at the start as they plunged into the very cold water of the swimming pool and swam ten laps. Next he had paddled around the lake twice through a series of obstacles, and by then was out of contention, but at least he had not upset his canoe. The final and longest leg of the trial was a run up a dry streambed, where he had fallen, and then over roads that toured the entire camp. Ron hadn't finished in the money, but the fact that he finished at all greatly impressed me. It is not likely that he will ever forget this afternoon spent with his son's Boy Scout troop. Dinner was excellent, consisting of Salisbury Steak, potatoes, gravy and chocolate pudding --- cooked to a tee by our Scouts. At 6:45, everyone went to church --- some to the Catholic service at the campfire circle, some to the All Faith service at the pavilion, some to the Scouts Own service at the mess hall, and the rest to the Native American service at the dance circle. Then, everyone relaxed and waited for the mammoth campfire that was to close the day's proceedings. Here Ron got a T-Shirt for finishing the Iron Scout, and various boys and patrols from our troop were awarded their prizes. By midnight, the day was winding down, and I went for a stroll through the woods without a flashlight. I often do this when camping, as a small adventure at the end of the day. This time I fell over a log and scraped my arm, and so I made my way back to the camp center in search of a place to wash up a little. Strangely, the lights of the dining hall were still on, and I entered to find an old-timer who was preparing coffee for the following morning. We fell into conversation, as I fiddled with my arm and he fiddled with his half-dozen coffeepots. Seems he had been to over a dozen of these yearly gathering in the woods north of Smethport, and after comparing notes on last year, when it had rained all weekend and the world was brown with mud, he told me of other camporees long ago. He did not speak of sunny days. For half and hour, he told of fires and floods; of broken arms and legs; and of windstorms and thunderstorms of Biblical proportion. I sat there and smiled and envied him his many experiences. As I walked back to my tent in Seminole campsite, I was strangely pleased with my scraped arm and the small adventure it had brought me. I won't forget it.
Why is it, do you think, that we must bleed to remember? |
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I
walked the quarter mile from the Seminole campsite to the center of
the Elk Lick Scout Reservation, and, once again, marveled at the
number of Scouts and the variety of activities associated with the
Calumet Camporee. First I stopped to have a look at the circle of
spectators watching a clan of Native Americans dancing to a strange
and unmelodic dirge. Then I wandered over to a platoon of Civil War
soldiers talking with a group of excited boys who were examining
their ancient weapons with great interest. Next, I found a line of
chattering boys waiting to walk a wobbling 50 foot monkey bridge.
Nearby I could see groups building a catapult, solving a maze, and
assembling some peculiar contraption while blindfolded.