The first day of the campout was my favorite. Only one other family was there (the scoutmaster’s family), plus two errant teenagers that we had brought along. We brought up the Bishop’s daughter, and they brought up one of our favorite young men in the ward, and it was very pleasant. We set up camp, and the kids played, and we had dinner, and talked around the campfire, and then most of us went to bed while the 4 teenagers stayed up and played games (I still have a hard time thinking of Truman as a teenager). Next day we went on a hike and threw boulders at each other. Well, kind of - we threw them into the water of a stream in the direction of each other with the intent of causing voluminous amounts of water to erupt onto the people on the other side of the stream. And, voluminous was a goal that perhaps we never quite reached. Nevertheless, once Megan finally put her foot down and commanded me to go play, I had fun. I think there must be something about nursing fires, throwing rocks, and splashing water that hold inestimable fascination for the souls of men. These three activities seem to fill the well at the core of our beings, inspire us and compel us, and have the potential to provide hours of good clean (?) entertainment.
Then other people started arriving. Just a trickle at first, and then a whole barrage. Lennard and his family had camped at one end of the campsite, we had camped at the other; everyone else filled in the blank spaces in the middle. Too many hard to answer questions, “You’re making fajitas? And churning ice cream? We’re lucky to have hot dogs!” “What are those? Maple nut scones?” “Ooh, is that a mushroom omelette?” “Is that 10 foot marshmallow roaster long enough for you? Are you able to get far enough from the fire?”
Friday’s activities were a little more involved - Abby and Truman got to go fishing, and only complained that it was boring. It didn’t help that they didn’t catch anything. I tried to tell them that was the way fishing was supposed to be, that boring is precisely what makes fishing good. I had wanted to go with them but I hadn’t finished cleaning the dutch ovens. I like that job - it helps satisfy my need for order and my obsession for details; even though at the same time it often causes me to withdraw from my my environs and forget that people are important and that they have feelings. So, I missed out on training my kids in the finer points of enjoying fishing, but I did go on the crystal hunting expedition. The crystal hunting was not unsuccessful - I think everyone found some small crystals in the stream bed and best of all wasted lots of time in their pursuit. I, too, succumbed to the enticement of the hunt, and I have my own small collection of beautiful small crystals. I have no idea what I’m ever going to do with them but they are mine, and pity the man (or woman) who tries to take them away from me.
After lunch we came back to the valley. Christian needed to be at the school at 7:30 a.m. Saturday morning to take the PSAT, three children had soccer games, Rebekah had her last ballet class (with “parent sharing”), and I potentially had a refereeing assignment. In the fine print, though, I was glad to have an excuse to come home. We had been camping long enough, there were getting to be lots of people up there, and it was really nice to have a Saturday to play and clean and watch a movie.
(The Campout according to Kenneth)
Trying to throw a really big rock.
Manly rock throwing
Cutie-pie on a stump
Christian and Truman's Mock Archaeology dig that satisfied their last requirements for the Archaeology Merit Badge.
Throwing rocks
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