Camping With Women, Chapter 2

Linda, one of two moms I wrote about in an earlier post about Scouts, was a marvel, (If No One Else Volunteers, April 29, 2009). She had two boys, one older and one younger than my son, and she was immersed in Scouting, volunteering on every level. If you could catch up with her to ask for help with almost anything, her answer was always: “sure.”

Miss Congeniality: Linda

Her older son moved from Cub Scouts up to Boy Scouts a year before my son Robert did, and Linda was already a leader when Robert joined the same troop. As chairman of the troop committee, she led the adult group responsible for the troop’s operations and finances and conducted the monthly committee meetings. She was also a merit badge counselor, a trained adult lifeguard, and a fundraising organizer.

Linda suggested I join the troop committee and get involved. Like many parents, I thought Boy Scouts was for boys and their dads. I’d often heard moms say, “I’ll get him through Cub Scouts, then it’s his dad’s turn!” Back in Cub Scouts, I’d heard dads say, “I’ll get involved when he joins Boy Scouts.” Consequently, Boy Scouts was thought to be “no-woman’s land” by many parents, me included. In reality, more and more moms are getting involved in Scouting annually.

Boys will be boys.

Boy Scouts of America has banned any form of hazing; however at Robert’s first troop meeting, the older scouts hung the new scouts upside down over the second floor balcony of the church where they met. “Boys will be boys!” The “good-old-dads” in the troop responded. As Committee Chair, Linda led the fight against those outdated, outlawed attitudes and made several male enemies in the process.

After the hazing incident, my husband Jim and I decided one of us should volunteer to chaperone Robert’s first campout with his new troop. Jim had to work, so I signed up to drive a car full of new Boy Scouts to Vicksburg, Mississippi, to camp at the Vicksburg National Military Park. The scoutmaster informed us that it was rare for anyone to be allowed to camp there and it was a real privilege for our troop to gain permission.

Field of extremes.

After arriving at the national park, a dusty, single-lane gravel road took us through deep woods and past unmown fields to our remote, “primitive” campsite—a clearing about the size of half a football field with two-foot tall weeds, ticks, and no latrines. The boys set up their tents on one side of the field and the adults set up on the other side, rather like the blue and the grey armies had done one hundred thirty-five years earlier.

There were two other moms on the trip—Linda and a tall, younger woman named Karen. At the first opportunity I asked Linda what we were to do about “going to the bathroom.” The boys had no inhibitions about stepping out behind their tents with a spade and a wad of toilet paper when nature called, but we moms weren’t so free spirited. Linda, Karen and I came up with a plan to ensure privacy and discretion; but the three of us needed to always go together for it to work.

Over hill, over dale.

The tree-lined road that led into our campsite ran up and down several small hills and valleys. Our plan was to head down the road a short distance, past a hill or two. One of us could squat alongside the road in a hollow while the other two were posted atop a hill on either side to act as lookouts. Since there was no other traffic on the road that wound through our campsite, it worked well for two days and nights.

One afternoon Linda had one of those moments when it’s time to go now and set out alone. Karen and I saw Linda leave but didn’t worry because no one else was camping in the area. Besides, our boys were busy in camp making their lunches. There was however, unknown to us, park maintenance in progress. While squatting alone in the grass beside the road, with her scout shorts around her ankles and her bare behind cooling in the breeze, Linda watched a huge transport truck full of shirtless, very amused road crews roar past.

Karen and I were horrified when we saw the truck full of laughing men drive through our camp and disappear around a bend. Linda came strolling back after a few minutes and Karen and I ran to meet her.

“Please tell us they did NOT see you squatting when they drove by,” I said.

“Yup,” replied Linda, nodding. “They did.”

“What did you do,” we wanted to know.

“Well, the Scout Law says ‘A Scout is Friendly.’ What else could I do? I smiled and waved,” she said, demonstrating with a big grin and a wave of her arm.

Donna

In memory of Linda Abel, who passed away in June of 2006 at age 59, from brain cancer.