I am in bed today nursing a fever! As I lie here, I have been studying The Official Manual for Girl Scout Leaders as diligently as if I were studying for final exams. I am going camping in just two weeks with thirty Junior Girl Scouts. I’m 46 years old and I’m scared to death! Junior Girl Scouts are little girls between the ages of nine and twelve who are in 3rd, 4th, 5th and 6th grades. Some have never spent the night away from home before. This I can’t imagine for my own children were packing suitcases by age three and others are already hiding lipstick and cigarettes in their bedrolls. The generation gap is ever widening, but the Girl Scout Council apparently is unaware of the problem and continues to lump them all together.
That is neither here nor there. The big thing is that I am one of their leaders and in order to be at least ten steps ahead of the girls, I have to study. I thought camping was only a matter of taking one’s bedroll and some food and cooking the food, then sleeping outside. I guess there is more to it than that, at least with the Juliette Low girls.
Now, we leaders don’t have to earn badges per se, but we do have to be knowledgeable and pass a few tests. Also lying at my feet is the Girl Scout Official Field Guide to Camping and a brand-new green Girl Scout Leader’s uniform...MINE! I have the hem pinned up for sewing. I may be a Scout leader, but I can still wear the uniform above the knees. Actually, I’m not leader, but an assistant leader. A title which also has its growing pains, or perhaps I should say, particularly has growing pains. Of course, I didn’t think so when I accepted this honored position. I thought that surely the leader does all the dirty work, the planning, the studying, the organizing, attending leader’s workshops and official meetings once a month. Not true! I’m in on it, too! Much to my surprise, with a room full of dedicated witnesses watching, I had to swear under oath to do MY duty as I was pinned with the Girl Scout Pin.... There was no way to escape after that. It was all very official and serious...nothing frivolous at all. I mean, those women are disciples of Juliette Low.
But while I sip this nice steaming cup of beef bouillon that I managed to fix for myself a few minutes ago, let me tell you about the real joys of Girl Scouting.
For years my youngest daughter, Diana, has been volunteering my services for various positions, and for just as many years I have been trying to wriggle out of most of them. You see, my eldest child is twenty-one and there were two more after her before Diana arrived. I was used up by then. You can imagine the years I’ve had of being room mother, Sunday school teacher, Brownie leader, PTA publicity chairman, Den mother, library volunteer...the list is endless. Suddenly, I found myself saying, “I’d like to, but I find that when I’m so involved my family suffers.” “I’m spreading myself too thin.” “My husband is complaining.” “Let George do it.” “I really think Mrs. Smythe is more capable, don’t you? And she’s dying to be asked.” ...and it was with shame that my eyes met Diana’s when she said, “But Mommy, you never do anything for ME. I WANT YOU to do it!” and her finger pointed like Uncle Sam’s.
Despite my refusal to be a Brownie leader, Diana sailed into Brownies at age seven with all the enthusiasm a second grader can muster. Two years later she flew up as eagerly into Girl Scouts. But this year, out of the blue, she informed me that she was through with Girl Scouts forever. “How could that be?” I asked. “Juniors have so much fun. You’ll miss all the campouts and canoeing...maybe sailing,” I finished lamely. It was obvious that I was getting nowhere. I was talking to deaf ears. She wanted to spend Tuesday afternoon playing kickball with the neighborhood boys. “I can’t stand being in Scouts with the baby 4th graders who will be in our troop this year, and the icky 6th graders who think they’re SO smart,” she nearly shouted. “But Diana, you’re all for brotherhood...’er sisterhood...or Girl Scouts together...What is your motto anyway?” I begged. She ignored me, so I suggested we let the case rest until further study on the subject.
Shortly after that, I happened to come upon a brochure sent out by the Parents’ League stating that drugs were being introduced right into grade school on the playgrounds it said, right under the eyes of our teachers. Another article in the Houston Post assured me that children who had no outside interests such as church, scouting, etc... were doomed to juvenile delinquency in which drugs and alcohol were a major problem. It said children must become more involved in constructive activities and so must their parents.
How could I consider letting her become uninvolved in Girl Scouting? I must insist...after all, it gives girls such a wholesome outlook to discover there is more to life than boys, drugs, sex and clothes. I couldn’t agree more, not that Diana is aware that boys are for any use other than to build forts, race with and to play kickball with. Drugs to her are aspirins when she has a fever and penicillin for strep throat, both of which I need at this moment. And sex to her is when our dog is in heat and has to go to the kennels to keep from having puppies. I’ve tried to tell her more about it, but she could care less right now. As for clothes, they are something to cover up with, the older the better. I even begged her to take a three-week charm school offered at Neiman’s this summer. She flatly refused even with the bribe I offered.
The main argument I would have to use then, I decided, was that I had saved her big sisters’ uniforms, and she would have to fill them. Just look at that perfectly good Girl Scout sweater hanging there and the green beret. And there is the Cadet uniform, pressed and waiting for her when she gets to 7th grade.
I hope Diana will make it to Senior Girl Scouts, for nowadays they really do have more fun...the industrious ones even get to do things like trips to Europe if they’re lucky, and the ones we’ve met who help us out in our troop meetings are real joys – they can do almost anything. In fact, I would refuse to go on the campout at all were it not that two Senior Girl Scouts are going. They don’t know how green we leaders really are.
After our little talk, I reflected somewhat on why Diana wanted to quit Scouting. Was it because of my own lack of interest or participation I wondered? My conscience was troubled. I could recall Diana saying, “Mommy, why can’t you be a Brownie leader like Mrs. Lang?” To get out of that gracefully, I volunteered to be head of the transportation committee, mainly because of our Volkswagen bus. We had many delightful trips that year, to the beach, the zoo, the planetarium, the arboretum. I became transportation chairman the next year also. She volunteered me, naturally.
To get out of it the next year, I was cookie chairman. Little did I know it meant what it did. Innocently I thought I would be calling up the various mothers to bring cookies to the meetings. Was that a distorted idea? Every year the Girl Scouts all over the United States sell cookies (I knew this from past years, but it didn’t enter my head when I volunteered that that was what cookie chairman meant.). I must have had six hundred boxes of cookies in my garage for dispensing. The money kept rolling in, lists had to be checked, girls kept coming back with their wagons, in cars, bicycles, to get more cookies to sell. It was a sea of green all two long weeks for the event, and I still have eighteen boxes of cookies in the freezer that we couldn’t return. It was just easier to pay for them than figure out how we ended up with them.
This brings us from the second grade right up to the fifth grade, and I had run out of excuses. This is what happened: Ann Masterson, my good friend and neighbor, the kind it’s hard to say no to, for she always erupts with so much enthusiasm, caught me unaware one evening when she came by to see if I wanted to ride bicycles with her. Our daughters’ bikes of course, who happened to be on her trampoline. I innocently joined her and then, as we pedaled healthily along, she said, “Would you like to be my assistant this year?” “Assistant for what?” I asked.“Girl Scouts. I’m the leader for our girls’ troop. Shari was going to drop out and when they asked me, I accepted to keep her in. Shari said Diana wanted to get out of Scouts, too.”
So, I laughed uneasily and accepted. I knew Ann was an organizer; past president of the Garden Club, Sandalwood publicity chairman, she put out our neighborhood newspaper, and did many other little things that would put me in bed for a year, but it is her sustaining force, with her as leader, I knew my job would be a snap and the girls would love Scouting, too. So, this would keep Diana happy in two ways, she would be proud of me and would continue to be involved in a worthwhile cause. The matter was firmly settled by the time we had pedaled back to our block.
Suddenly, September arrived, and the phone rang. Ann! “Edith, there’s the first neighborhood meeting Monday, for leaders. We HAVE to go!” There was no saying no to Ann. We went. It lasted for THREE hours. We came away with reams of printed instructions to leaders; an official leader’s notebook filled with explicit instructions, a leader’s campout manual, and a staggering calendar of activities for the year. Circled in big red letters were dates such as September 24 and 25 – Training program at Camp Hudson; September 29 and 30 – Training program for leaders, TWO? October 3 and 4 – Overnight campout training program...and so on. I wondered if Boy Scout leaders had to do these many things. We were to learn know tying, crafts, games, songs, fire building, macramé (what’s that?), badges. The list was endless of things we had to learn.
Ann and I arranged to go to the first two training sessions, but I couldn’t go to the camp training, so she went alone overnight. Afterall, it’s a lot more important to go to the Alley Theatre if you have season tickets and thank goodness mine fell on that night. A campout with a bunch of women? Ugh! Besides, I knew all about bedrolls and stuff, after all, I used to be a second-class scout. Apparently, they had a great time, and I was glad that she had an inkling of what to do. How to survive.
Of course, when Ann asked me to volunteer to take the swimmer’s test this week (October 25) I had to say yes, since I had chickened out on the training campout. I was needed to stand on the bank and watch the canoers have their canoe lessons and, according to the rules, two lifeguards (the senior girls) were not enough, she said. It was required that two adults stand by WHO HAD PASSED THEIR SWIMMERS TEST AND HAD RED CROSS CARDS TO PROVE IT. Ann had passed her test, now it was my turn!!
The pool was heated, but when I got there, I discovered that Ann had forgotten to tell me I had to swim fully dressed, surface dive and swim three lengths underwater and tread water for ten minutes, plus swim a few other more dignified strokes. Well, I had brought my bathing suit, but why bother with that! It was ten miles back home, and by then the test would be over. There were some other mothers there from other Girl Scout troops, too. There was nothing to do but jump in.
In August that wouldn’t have bothered me, but outside it was 45 degrees. When the test was finished everyone else ran giggling to the dressing room to put on dry clothes. I self-consciously dried the best I could, looked forlornly at my dry bathing suit and tried to decide which I should do, put it on to drive home in and be dry and cold, or wear my clothes and be wet and cold. Because of pride, I chose to be wet and cold and tried to be nonchalant as I walked out to my Volkswagen bus which didn’t get warmed up until I rounded the corner by my house.
Now you know why this bouillon feels so good on my raw throat. I have to get well because I’m the assistant leader! How could Ann go up there with thirty girls without me along? They also need my Volkswagen bus to carry supplies. The girls are going up in a chartered bus but mine is also THE emergency vehicle in case anyone gets hurt or homesick, heaven forbid. As the date for the campout approached, I was getting more and more nervous. I really knew very little about camping and I didn’t want to embarrass Diana because of my ignorance. So together we decided it was a good idea to have a trial run at this camping business. I talked her into it, scared to go alone naturally. Anyway, she was becoming an eager Girl Scout now that I was leader. We were both exuding enthusiasm as we made our plans.
We left home Friday afternoon and headed for Palmetto State Park which was about 100 miles away. I had carefully loaded all the amenities while she was still in school, so we could get an early start, 3:30 p.m.
As we drove down the road, she was very thoughtful and finally said, “I don’t know how the two of us are going to get that tent up. It usually takes at least four people to do it.” “Nonsense,” I said, “Remember how we did it for your slumber party last summer? We can do it easily. Umbrella tents are a cinch. You just put up the poles.” THE POLES!!! I had forgotten the poles! I could see them down in the tool shed. I keep the bedrolls and tent in the hall closet because it’s too damp in the tool shed. Damn, I thought, very un-Girl Scout leader-ish!
I quickly recovered. I had to for my own self-respect and said gaily, “Oh well it’s fall now. The stars will be beautiful, away from the smog and fog. We’ll have clear skies and see a real harvest moon.” Diana was almost morose. She is very modest and was terrified somebody might 'SEE' us. “I’ll just DIE sleeping out in the open!”
The sun seemed to be racing us to the Park. The VW only averages fifty miles an hour uphill and anywhere is uphill from Houston which rests at fifty-two feet above sea level. Finally, we found the Palmetto State Park and hurried to set up camp before dark. We unfolded the tent and neatly laid our bedrolls on top of it. It was going to be absolute luxury with all that padding! Then we tried to start the fire. Diana wanted to do it with one match and no fire starter to earn her badge. She ran around collecting twigs of various sizes and the sun was sinking lower and lower into the horizon. Finally, I stopped her and said, “Look, you’ll have another chance to earn that badge in the morning. I put this fire starter in the car in case we needed it.” She wailed, “No.” But, I insisted and then admitted to her that I had also forgotten the lantern, and we only had the one flashlight, and the batteries are not as strong as I thought they were. “Look,” I said as a weak light shone from the flashlight.
Soon we had a hot charcoal blaze going, but by then it was really dark. We ate supper in the moonlight. We had brought onions and potatoes along with ground meat to make chili dogs. You know, chile poured over hot dogs with fried potatoes on the side. We skipped all that and had dry hot dogs. I had forgotten the mustard and ketchup also. While we roasted marshmallows on the beautiful coals, we also heated water to wash dishes in, but also to have some hot tea. Tea bags are easy to use when camping if you can get the water to boil. It just steamed but never boiled. Then, I remembered the tea bags that had been served to me countless times in restaurants with plain hot water and decided we could do that in spite of it all. Laced with some evaporated milk, it wasn’t bad. The night was brisk, and the hot cup of tea was welcome. By the time it had steeped, the dishes were fairly clean, supplies were picked up, and Diana had crawled into her sleeping bag...fully dressed. She refused to sleep in her pajamas where “someone might see me.” Not a soul was in sight, and I felt so alone. I kept wishing I would see at least one camper. None arrived at all.
But joyously, I served tea in the tin cups brought for the occasion. I sank down on my bedroll saying, “Mmmmm...how delicious.” “Ugh, it tastes burned,” she said and handed me hers and laid down and moaned, “I hate camping. There’s nothing to do but go to bed.” I said, “Well, I brought the Old Maid cards, but it’s too dark to play. We could try talking though.” No answer. I drank my tea in silence. Then I drank hers. It was not burned!
At that point I, too, decided to sleep in my clothes. It seemed ludicrous to open up my suitcase and take out pajamas. We had no robes. What if a ranger or another camper did come by? It would be much simpler to be dressed. An owl hooted. Imagine me, there in the woods with the moon in my face, all alone with nature, and Diana, of course. I felt twenty again! It was fun. Then I heard a car coming down the road. It came nearer and nearer and slowed down. It stopped. Was it another camper? Or was it someone looking for a totally defenseless lonely woman and child? It was the Park ranger checking up on us. He assured us that he patrolled the area several times during the night. That he did! I heard him each time...12:00 midnight, 2:30 a.m., 4:30 a.m.
Silence again, then mosquitoes. At this time of year, I questioned. How could they dare be alive in October! I vaguely remembered putting in a can of insect spray. "Dear God, let me be right," I thought. I was. It was in the car pocket. Diana assured me she was dying from the DDT and to please not spray again. I waited until she was asleep and sprayed a complete fog of it around us. I dreamed all night...when I slept...of those tent poles in the tool house. How could I have been so dumb, I wondered? I would never live it down for Diana would tell. At least I could be thankful it wasn’t raining. The mosquitoes finally left...to plan their next attack. But if they returned, I was too tired to hear or feel them.
Nature called about 5:30 the next morning. The air seemed so damp, but it was still very dark. I decided to start the fire, to heck with Diana’s fire badge. A cup of coffee would surely taste good, so I fumbled around and found the matches, threw some charcoal into the fireplace, along with some sticks, then squirted the fire starter. Not a single match would light. They were wet (What was that one learned about dipping them in paraffin?). I had left the box open the night before and the dampness had ruined all of them. But Hark! I remembered something we learned at one of our leaders’ meetings. Two batteries and steel wool make a blaze. I finally found the flashlight deep in Diana’s bedroll, opened it and took out the two batteries. Now, how did that woman do it? I tried it sixteen different ways, none would work. Now, I knew that I saw her do it, and I knew it would work. Something was wrong! Then, all of a sudden, I knew! The batteries were dead! Diana must have slept with the flashlight on all night inside her bedroll. I check the flashlight and sure enough it was in the ‘on’ position! Now what? I dug into my purse, no matches. Why did I quit smoking ten years ago? I sometimes take the book batches they offer at the bank but had none. I checked the car to see if any were in the car pocket. VW’s don’t have cigarette lighters either!
I was standing there as the first rays of sunlight were shining in through the trees when I heard the car coming again. It was the ranger’s truck. I flagged him down and asked him if he had a match. I also thanked providence for keeping me in my clothes the night before instead of my pajamas. I must have looked a sight, for the ranger took one look and said, “I’ll be glad to start your fire for you, lady. We have a heavy fog this morning, and you’re going to find it’s not easy to get it going.”
Diana was up by then, and soon the two of them had a hot fire going. We had hot coffee together, and Diana had hot chocolate. If that man had asked me to marry him at that moment, I would have said yes, though he didn’t look a day over thirty. I must have looked one hundred by then. However, one does lose all pride on a campout, I learned.
After breakfast, Diana and I had a nature hike, and then headed back for home (prematurely!). She had remembered she had called a patrol meeting at our house for 1:00 p.m. “What is the name of your patrol?” I asked. They had just organized at the last Scout meeting, and the patrol names were to be kept a secret until the campout. “The Lollypops,” she answered confidentially, “and our motto is 'We’re Lickin’ Good'.” They were meeting that day to plan their part of the dinner menu for the campout they were to cook.
“Have you decided on your meal?” I asked. “Well,” she said, “We have to vote on it today, but I’m going to suggest a Hobo stew.”“What is that?” I wanted to know. She looked at me to catch any suggestion of a negative reaction, “Each girl brings a can of food from home and we just dump it into the pot and stir it up together.”“Sounds fine to me,” I lied. Even though it’s strictly against all rules of Girl Scout camping, I just may stick a few pieces of my new diet candy in the bottom of my sleeping bag. No one would know and the label says it’s “full of vital nutrients and vitamins and guaranteed to satisfy your appetite.”
You can see that I am now prepared for anything. I feel like a full-fledged camper, and I’m sure I can do most anything. Let’s hope I can camp with thirty squealing girls!
Oh, Oh. There’s someone at the door.
“You Hoo...”
“Oh, it’s you, Ann.” I croaked. “How nice to see you.” She didn’t seem to even notice that I was still in bed, sick.
“Here’s a list of things for you to remember to take.” It was two single spaced typewritten pages long!
Of course, Ann would never forget to take along the vitals, with or without a list...new batteries, lanterns, tent poles, ketchup....
“Here,” she said as she handed me something, “It’s your swimmer’s card. You passed!” She breathed, “Isn’t it wonderful! All these things we’re both learning in Scouting. By the way, before we can take that ten-mile hike in December, we have to have two people who hold First Aid cards. There’s a class starting next Thursday. We have to have a total of ten hours instruction...”
I sighed. Shades of Juliette Low, I murmured and took another aspirin.
Edith pledges her loyalty to Scouting