Redefinition

This afternoon I’m taking my Cub Scout den to see the U.Va vs. Maryland wrestling match. In addition to being a fun outing that will help them satisfy one of their requirements for a badge, I thought that going to a collegiate wrestling match would be educational as well. When I told my 6-year-old son about the planned outing, he confirmed my hunch.

“Will we get to see The Undertaker? Because my friend said The Undertaker took down Romeo Roselli.”

“Um, no Will, that’s a different kind of wrestling. That kind is fake, but the kind we are going to see is real.”

“Oh. Will they still get bleedy?”

This should be an eye-opening experience for this group of 6 and 7 year-olds. I hope they won’t be disappointed when no one gets hit over the head with a folding chair.

To Build a Fire*

As with all things having to do with the outdoors, and nearly everything else of any import, my Dad taught me how to build a fire. We spent many a Saturday burning brush in the backyard. Using more than one match or resorting to gas to get things going was frowned upon, and wet wood was only an inconvenience. There is always dry tinder to be found if you know where to look.

Those backyard lessons came in handy as I started spending frequent weekends on Boy Scout campouts. Campfires heated water for cocoa and oatmeal in the mornings, and sometimes produced “scrambled pancakes” if we forgot a spatula and had to turn them with a fork. In the evenings, we might have vegetables cooked in aluminum foil, generally crunchy and underdone, but if we were lucky they would be followed by a cobbler baked in the Dutch oven nestled in the glowing coals. Later, we would huddle around the fire and talk, but mostly we would just sit and stare, mesmerized by the flames.

My Boy Scout days are long behind me, and camping opportunities of any sort are few and far between these days, but I still use those fire-making skills on a regular basis. Usually, it’s to burn leaves or brush in my own backyard,

but with three girl scouts and a 3-year old around, marshmallows often enter into the picture.

Thanks Dad, for teaching me how to do it.

*With apologies to Jack London .

Where It Began

Rummaging through old pictures….

My outdoor adventuring got off to a less than auspicious start in the summer of 1975, as a newly-minted Boy Scout at Camp Shenandoah. My troop arrived at camp on Sunday afternoon, and when my parents came for family night on the following Thursday, they found me laying in my tent with pneumonia and a 104 degree temperature. I had been having such a good time that I didn’t want to let anyone know that I was sick. Suffice it to say that we didn’t stick around for the family night campfire.

In the photo I’m in the second row, 5th from the left.