I am one of those fortunate
people who grew up in an era that was not overwhelmed, as we appear to be
now-days, with digital technology. We
found ways of entertaining ourselves and choosing enjoyable activities that
were more natural. Camping was one of
those.
My mother and father thought
that camping was a good way to spend summer vacations. Part of that stemmed from the fact that we
did not have much money and were not well-healed enough to take world cruises,
go to luxury resorts, or stay in fancy hotels.
My father was able to pick up some army-surplus camping supplies, all of
it rather primitive by today's camping standards. He bought a heavy-canvas tent, big enough to
stand up in and to hold the five of us.
He bought five army cots made of heavy oak supports and canvas. We had a gas Coleman lantern that, when lit,
hissed and provided us with plenty of
light. We had a plywood icebox that he
made, lined with Celotex for insulation.
So for several summers, we
traveled in our station wagon to various states in central, north, and eastern
U.S., setting up camp in preselected campsites.
Undoubtedly, these travels sparked my love of nature that has lasted all
my life.
Unlike many other boys who
found enjoyable experiences camping through joining the Cub Scouts, Boys
Scouts, or (as portrayed in the movie “Moonlight Kingdom”) the Khaki Scouts, my
brief participation in the scouts included almost no camping trips. I don't recall whether our local troops just
did not offer that many trips, or if my mother just did not bother to sign me
up. As a consequence, I missed out on
some scouting experiences, enjoyable or less so, that many other boys have had.
I do recall that one of the
older boys, seventeen-year-old Bruce, apparently was very proud of his
developing masculinity, which was expressed in his being the hairiest
individual I ever had seen, to that date, outside of a zoo. Between his questionable personality, very
chunky build, rather common features, and a mat of black hair covering almost
the entirety of his body, I did not find him to be a particularly attractive
person.
Bruce was noted for two
exceptional habits while on camping trips.
One was that he prided himself on carrying with him a battery-pack and
electric razor to mow each morning the inevitable black stubble on his
face. The other habit, which to this day
I have not been able to explain, was that he liked to spend the night in his
sleeping bag nude. Boys being boys,
neither of these facts went unobserved. And
boys being who they are, they decided to play a practical joke on Bruce. All they had to do was hook up his electric
razor to his battery-pack, slip it down into his sleeping back, turn it on, and
then shout, “Snake! Snake!”
Bruce, waking up to the
warning shouts, along with the buzz and vibration down in his sleeping bag,
naturally panicked. Terrified, and
struggling to extricate himself from the sleeping bag, Bruce quickly wiggled
out of the bag, stood up, and without stopping to further assess the situation,
took off running into the woods. It took
a while for the boys to coax Bruce back into the camp. He was relieved but also irritated to find
that there never was a snake in his sleeping bag. He was even more irritated with the new
Indian name that the boys assigned to him, “Running Bare.”
© 23
January 2014
About the Author
I have had a life-long fascination with people
and their life stories. I also realize
that, although my own life has not brought me particular fame or fortune, I too
have had some noteworthy experiences and, at times, unusual ones. Since I joined this Story Time group, I have
derived pleasure and satisfaction participating in the group. I do put some thought and effort into my
stories, and I hope that you find them interesting.
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