Campfire

Saturday morning broke with the excitement of an upcoming Cub Scout camp fire -- the boys were looking forward to roasting hot dogs and s'mores. Unfortunately, it also brought with it the next round of this winter's weekly storms.

The day was promising at first -- clear skies, and not much rain at all, until precisely 5:06 p.m. That was the moment I was heading out to the camp with my car loaded full of food, wood and other camp fire supplies. And that was the moment the skies opened up and rained down on our plans.

But we are not a group to be dissuaded. The den leader and his gracious wife opened their house to us, offering up a covered patio. I immediately turned around and headed home to get my "portable" fire pit. (Portable in quotes because the beautiful tiles around the edges make the pit pretty heavy.)

Mark helped me carry the fire pit out to the car, and then skeptically observed that it might not fit. After the first try, I agreed. But I am not one to quit in the face of sane, logical thinking, so with an Incredible Hulk-like roar, I hoisted that giant pit in the air again and crammed it into the back seat of my compact car with all my might. It fit, just barely, and so I pushed some more until I could close the door. Mark's eyes were huge -- I'm not sure if he was just surprised, or a bit frightened, at my determination.

Turns out the location change didn't bother the boys at all. They were just thrilled to be lighting a fire. The den leader taught them the right way to light a match (point down, strike firmly against the box, toss away from you) and then passed one out to each boy. They could barely stand the excitement.

"I lit a match!" one boy cried, triumphantly. I honestly think that was the best part of the evening for them all.

Then it was into the house to load up hot dogs on the roasting sticks. The boys crammed them on and made their way out to the fire, careful not to jab anybody. (I took away one fork with a paper plate wrapped around the base, which the boy was brandishing as a sword.) They held the dogs over the fire, and then, as 10-year-old boys are known to do, let loose with every wienie joke they could imagine.

Somehow, the bun-to-hot dog ratio was way off -- we used all but one pack of hot dogs, but had four packs of buns left. I think it had something to do with half the hot dogs "accidentally" falling into the fire. (Accidentally in quotes because each time a wienie fell, there was an appreciate round of "Whoa!" as they watched the wienie burn up.) My own son cooked at least four hot dogs, but I only saw him eat one.

After a game of Leave No Trace charades and a lesson on how to burn and fuse the end of a rope, the boys were ready for s'mores. Miraculously, not one marshmallow fell into the fire, like all the hot dogs did. (You could tell where the hot dogs listed priority-wise compared to marshmallows.) However, once lowered over the flames, most of them immediately exploded into burning, gooey torches, but the group of boys worked together, blowing them out quickly. The boys really dug that part.

With all the activities complete and the sugar running freely through their veins, the boys attacked the play set on the lawn. The rain, wet equipment and lone girl determined to take turns fairly and democratically on the swing, did not slow them down. They were like wild banshees clambering and climbing all over it.

The constant rain slowed us down a bit, but didn't stop us. The boys successfully lit a fire, managed not to burn the house down, and ran through the house with various smoldering hot food on the end of sharp-pointed long forks -- all without injury. And best of all, they had a blast doing it.

Which to me equals success. :-)

How (not) to camp

Last Friday was my chance to co-lead another Cub Scout meeting. It went a little better than the last time, but still had its challenges.

We were working on the Outdoorsman badge, commonly referred to as the camping badge. However, it's February, the local mountains are filled with snow, and neither my co-lead Liz nor I wanted to camp in the cold. So we came up with activities that prepared the boys for camping instead.

Liz and I explained that we were having a camp fire next month and cooking dinner over the fire. This simple statement was enough to start the questions rolling.

"Um, when is that?" one boy asked. "We might be busy that weekend."

"Yeah, I have to ask my dad first," another boy chimed in.

I assured them their parents already knew about it, and had confirmed they'd be there. Then I repeated that same statement eight more times for the other boys who might also have plans that weekend (even though they didn't know what weekend it was).

Liz explained that to hold a camp fire, we'd need food, j o b s and supplies. She stood at the ready to write down the list the boys came up with.

"Let's start with food," I said, and called on the boys to name food. They immediately answered s'mores, marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate. They answered that in various forms for about three minutes.

"Good, we'll have s'mores. What other food should we bring?" I pressed.

"Wine!" shouted one boy, and I told him, "I'm going camping with your parents!"

Eventually, our list included s'mores, hot dogs, and soup in a bag.

Next, we moved onto supplies.

"What will we need to start the fire?" Liz asked. This was met with answers such as wood, kindling, fires starter stuff, and wood again. "Oh, and newspaper!" one boy called out.

Someone suggested space heater, which we nixed when the boys realized a) there was no plug for a space heater, and b) a camp fire actually is a space heater.

They did agree that they'd need matches or a lighter, and at this point, the conversation broke down into claims of "I've started lots of fires before," "I've started hundreds of fires before," and "My dad always lets me light the camp fire." It took a few minutes to re-focus them on the activity.

The last list was j o b s. It read: fire starter, cookers, and "guys who throw wood in the fire."

"Good," I answered. "We'll have people to make the fire and the food. What about when we're done eat ing?"

They stared at me blankly. Liz asked, "What happens to all the plates and cups when we're done eat ing?"

The blank stares remained, so we gently suggested we'd need a clean up crew. The stares turned to wrinkled noses, and 10 boys called dibs on being in the fire starter group instead.

At this point, I noticed the room was growing louder. The cafeteria was filling up with Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts, and I panicked a bit. Usually, we're the only den holding a meeting before the big pack meeting. But there was a special bridging ceremony tonight, and before I could blink, the entire room was full. Our boys were completely distracted, and I doubted we'd get them back.

So we fed them instead. They scarfed down pizza, drank their juice, and shoved carrots in their pockets to avoid eat ing them. ("Make sure you check pants pockets carefully next time you do laundry!" I warned the other moms.)

Liz adjusted our activity plans, and we raced through the next activity. By now, the cafeteria was full of Scouts and parents, and our boys couldn't sit still. I took them outside with orders to run free for the next 15 minutes, until the pack meeting started.

They whooped with joy, and took off. Typical kids -- for all the planning Liz and I did, that was their favorite activity of the night.

Oh, well, things could've been worse. We could've been camping in snow!