IT'S A RITE OF PASSAGE that not everyone embarks on: the overnight field trip.
Day trips, too. My school took me to various places, often in Philadelphia. We went to tile museums, city museums, into town for a mapmaking expedition, to the aquarium, and even to see a play at one point. In high school we'd also take a multi-day field trip to a certain city every year; first Baltimore, then Philly, then Boston.
Everyone loved field trips! This was especially true when we required a fancy bus with a toilet and TV screens. One particularly memorable third-grade trip took us to the aquarium in Baltimore, where Haley and I enjoyed listening to each other's CDs. I fell in love with the Kidz Bop version of "Complicated."
Actually, it was one day in the fourth grade preparing to go to yet another museum when it hit me like a ton of bricks: field trips sucked.
I mean, what did we do? Sure, we got to get out of school. We got to ride the bus and play the Alphabet Game. Or, in one case, sing "100 Bottles of Beer on the Wall."
But once we got there, things changed. We got to walk around boring museums for a long period of time. I found myself missing tire swing smoothies at recess, talking about dreams at lunch, and silent reading time. Heck, I'd rather be sitting in weekly meeting for worship in silence for twenty minutes. They weren't nearly as bad as I thought they were in kindergarten.
In fifth grade we pulled out the big guns: overnight camping. Going to rural Maryland for three days was a fifth and sixth-grade tradition.
Days before the trip, one of the faculty members who would be joining us came to talk about it. We drew pictures of what the tents would look like on the whiteboard and shared stories about trips past. I felt like it was a nuisance that I would have to get out of the way. I never really liked camping, and was less excited about this field trip than any of the others. Meanwhile, at home, Dad showed me how to roll up and pack away my sleeping bag once the day was finished. Three days couldn't be that bad, right? Besides, we went camping with Adventure Princesses twice a year, albeit with less structure and team building.
It wasn't like I hadn't been away from home before, either. Sleepovers with Grandma and Grandpa were a common occurrence, but those took place in a comfy house with lots of goodies to eat and fun places to go, like our favorite restaurants. I'd also gone to Christine's for a sleepover in the mere first grade. We'd had a blast writing stories, playing board games, and watching The Book of Pooh.
That morning, I finished washing up in the bathroom knowing that something embarrassing was bound to happen. It started off smoothly. We boarded a really nice bus where we watched The Incredibles and chatted amongst ourselves. It was one of the most boring drives I'd ever had. Driving through rural farmland of Maryland was just that: rural farms that never, ever ended. Baltimore was literally right across the bay. Unfortunately, because someone designed the state poorly you'd never know it---it would still take 90 minutes to two hours to go around it and drive there. We were in the woods, far far away.
We eventually reached a long, wooded driveway that we turned into. Before we even got off the bus, we were greeted by a cheerful staff member in a Hawaiian-print shirt.
"Hey, guys!" he said. "My name's Will. I'll be one of your leaders for the next three days. Are you guys ready to have some fun?"
"Yeah!" we all said in a happy chorus like kids in cartoons.
Will would eventually teach us a great song about a moose. It would begin by him singing one line and us repeating it. When we were all together outside of our individual groups, we would often sing the moose song. "There was a great big moose!" Will would begin. We'd repeat. That would be followed by the phrase, "He liked to drink a lot of juice!" which we'd also repeat. There was a whole song about this moose.
It turns out that rustic camping presents its own set of dangers and isn't all fun and moose songs, as I'd figured out. We split into groups to do activities that we'd do throughout the day. But first, it was time to move into the tents. Girls on one side, guys on the other. We took in our surroundings on the way, bringing up the first few dangers.
PERIL #1: OUTHOUSES
That was the first thing we noticed. Terrifying and tiny, there were a few rows of them surrounded by light green walls. I was so terrified of the smell that I would hold my breath. And that's how I got through six total days of rustic camping without ever knowing the smell of an outhouse.
PERIL #2: RED ANTS
The tent I stayed in had a downed tree lying nearby, and we'd use it to climb and sit on. As the days passed, though, I noticed gazillions of red ants crawling about. Knowing what my Ranger Rick days had taught me, I began to avoid sitting there. And did I mention how creepy they looked?
Nature was scary!
Eventually we all got together again for dinner after a nature activity, where we had delicious fruit punch. I liked, and still like, fruit punch and its fruity flavor. I knew I would miss it when it was time to go, and the food wasn't bad either...except when it was time to weigh it.
PERIL #3: SLOP
After each meal, the staff would make us measure all our food waste and made an entire tradition out of it. SLOP, or Stuff Left on Plates, was not only a fancy camp term, but a tradition. They'd even made cheers out of it. It made me roll my eyes every time, and they never failed to make us feel bad about our waste. The reprimanding took almost as long as the cheering did. This aspect of camp is pretty much at every camp nowadays, and no matter how little food you waste, the staff will be disappointed in you.
After dinner, we played a couple of team-building-type games before heading to bed. Zip-Zap-Zop was a popular one, and I remember some version of Duck Duck Goose being involved. They weren't particularly great, but at least we weren't in the wilderness. I was satisfied in knowing the day would be over soon, but then the next day would arrive.
PERIL #4: SURVIVAL AND THE WILDERNESS
I never, ever liked wilderness activities, much less pretend survival. I had been dreading this the entire time.
It was too cold to swim in the Chesapeake Bay, which our camp lay on. And although I tried to look forward to going to the beach, I couldn't. We'd be doing survival there. In this case, that meant building a faux fort in which you could survive. It wasn't fun. I had never disliked the beach, and now I did.
Following that, we had to go on a hike. I was always inclined to complain when I did this type of thing with my parents, but they weren't here and it wasn't the adult thing to do. I couldn't whine and complain among my classmates. Finally we reached a circle of tree stumps, and we were allowed a break. Hiking without complaining was so hard! Still, I looked at it as a way to improve my maturity.
The hike itself really didn't last that long, which was good considering I was dreading the trip knowing we'd have to do something like that. Not much to say here, other than hiking sucks. More terror was yet to come.
PERIL #5: EMOTIONAL OUTBURSTS
The morning I left for camp, I knew something embarrassing was bound to happen. Well, cue embarrassing moment now.
We spent the first full afternoon playing group games with a nice woman named Sage. She was one of my favorite leaders---Leaf was tough looking and Shasta was mean to me. It had been a nice day and not all that bad. So I really don't know what did it. Maybe it was warm out that day, or maybe I just really freaking hated team building, or the day was just long. When there was a lull, I found myself standing and waiting for our next activity.
As time passed, it got lonely. Most people were still at their respective activities. I didn't know where Christine was. I began to wander around the tent area and eventually came across a tent of other kids who were hanging out.
"What's your name?" one Chinese girl asked me.
"Morgan," I replied. I just stood there, hesitant for words and not knowing what to do. I felt my eyeballs begin to hurt. What was wrong with me? I started to sniffle, and then turned away so that nobody would see.
It was too late. Sage had already seen me.
"Morgan?" she asked. I barely turned around as she asked me if I wanted to talk. I sniffed a bit more, wiping away a tear. Where in the world was this coming from?
"What's wrong?" she'd asked.
I was blubbering by this point. "I don't know, just annoying kids I guess!" I turned away again, feeling bad for the innocent kids who were just trying to be friendly. Geez. Where did that come from?
She left soon after as I stood there awkwardly, after offering to talk again. Then, something in me snapped back into place. Besides, we only had one more day left. Three days couldn't be that long. Right? I walked off to find a friend for real, hoping none of my teachers would find out about whatever the heck just happened.
PERIL #6: FISH KISSES
I was still in love with Harry Potter at this point, a tale you'll hear about later. I was obsessed with the book series, and considering I was nearing the age of Hogwarts acceptance, I thought that I should step up and do something brave. Doing something brave would obviously increase my chances of getting into Gryffindor. I had my chance on our last day there.
I was able to enjoy myself more since I knew we would be going home that day. Our group got on a boat and headed into the bay for some time on the water. A few of us caught some fish, small silver guppies.
Then the leader made an announcement. "Who is going to be the first one to kiss a fish?"
Nobody said anything. "I'm not brave enough!" Sara said.
Brave.
I had a different idea. Maybe this was my chance to get into Gryffindor.
"I'll do it," I said. I made my way to the silver fish. This was a 5th-grade legend, going to camp and kissing a fish. And now I was going to be the first one in our group to do it.
I bent down slowly, looking at the tiny fish. It wasn't huge, but somehow that made it worse. I imagined a tiny fish wildly flapping around against my lips, which was even more unpleasant than kissing a big fish. On the other hand, it was just kissing a fish. The action shouldn't be difficult. It wasn't going to do anything to me on purpose.
I bent down, and I kissed it.
It was ever so slimy, and I wiped my lips to brush off any lingering scales. It seemed like nothing really. Sara again reiterated how she'd never be brave enough to have done something like that.
"It was nothing!" I replied. It was true. But if people thought I was brave...well!
Unfortunately it wasn't only me who had the honor. Two other guys kissed the fish too. Still, I had taken part in this legend when few had expected me to. I thoroughly enjoyed the trip back to shore and the wind in my hair. I was a Gryffindor.
Boom, Harry Potter! How did you like me now?
Actually, no. I never went to Hogwarts. Also, I'm a Hufflepuff.
***
Finally it was time to go, and I was rolling up my sleeping bag just like my dad had taught me. I rolled it up along with the smell of sunscreen, heat, and canvas tents that would always remind me of this place. I had survived three days in the woods, and now it was back to the safety of the bus, as staff members lined up by the sides of the driveway and waved goodbye. I had made it through with minimal embarrassment, save for crying and, at one point, accidentally heading towards the boys' tents instead of the girls' and having one guy point it out quite loudly. This time, we could enjoy the movie choice freely knowing that the weekend was coming.
Even the hour we spent in traffic wasn't as bad, especially when it was broken up by a fast-food visit. Civilization at last! Before I knew it, it was 5:30 and we were pulling back into school. I was greeted by my grandparents, and I went back to their house to have chocolate chip cookies and talk about my adventure. It was over, and I was home. I took a sigh of relief.
Then I remembered:
We'd have to go back next year!
*********
I fought it.
I mean, I fought hard. Maybe I would even go so far as to pretend I was sick, something I would never otherwise dream of doing. Easter came and went, and wasn't nearly as much fun knowing we'd be heading to camp in three days.
Supposedly I wasn't the only one. At one point, the middle school director came to talk to us during snack time. "To those of you who aren't going? Shame on you. For those of you who are...we are going to have a BLAST!"
I did end up going on the trip. And no, I didn't have a "blast." But that teacher helped me walk to my kindergarten each day in the shyest moments of my life. She was my math teacher, and also the leader of my advisory group that met once a week. I couldn't disappoint her. It was less eventful, but when you put a bunch of middle schoolers in the woods, things are bound to go wrong. We weren't out of the woods yet. No pun intended.
But there were some okay moments. Christine had brought a novel about dogs called "Angus and Sadie" and spent some time showing it to me during down time. We did a couple of walks in the evening which I did likeâand would continue to like in the future when I was in college. We had a nice kayaking outing, although the cleanup and water testing aspect at the end was boring. And there was the fruit punch.
Still, it wasn't perfect, especially during that first night.
PERIL #7: SLEEPING BAGS
On a particularly cold evening, I buried myself in my sleeping bag and snuggled up. It wasn't especially hard. I shared a tent with the current religious life coordinator, who was basically responsible for teaching the school about Quakerism. She enjoyed singing lullabies at night, a guilty pleasure of all of us that year. In the middle of the night, though, I woke up. Something was very, very wrong but I wasn't sure what. Then I realized: I was cold. I reached for my sleeping bag so I could wiggle my way back in.
Wait. Where was my sleeping bag, anyway?
I felt all around, trying to find it. It wasn't on my mattress, nor was it on the floor. By this point, I was very confused. The only things in these tents were the floorboards, beds, and canvas walls. Where could my sleeping bag have gone?
Someone stole it. Something freaking stole my sleeping bag. I was incensed. Why would anyone need a sleeping bag? Did someone forget theirs, and, not wanting to be caught by teachers, I thought back to when we were unpacking. I couldn't recall anyone needing one. I recalled a moment last year when I thought someone was asking me to get out of my sleeping bag in the middle of the night, wanting to borrow it. (I found out later it had actually been Christine looking for a buddy to walk to the outhouses with.) Did the disembodied voice just refuse to ask me nicely and just proceeded to steal it this time? Or was it the ghost of camping past wanting revenge?
I somehow went back to sleep. The next morning, though, I woke up to multiple pairs of eyes staring at me. Everyone was looking at me and my balled-up body that was trying in vain to stay warm.
"You lost your sleeping bag?" Ciara asked. She wasn't laughing at me; rather, she was trying to understand what happened. We all were. How did one lose a sleeping bag while they were sleeping? And where was it?
Suddenly, I saw a flash of purple in the corner of my eye. Could it be? I reached down to grab it and ended up pulling my bulky bag in from the outside of the tent.
How it happened was beyond me. I was sleeping in the back of the tent, meaning there was no flap. There wasn't really a good opening to the outside. It would have taken work to move it outside even while awake.
I managed to shake it off and get on with the rest of the day, but my tentmates loved to share the story. So do I, now that it's funny.
And then, there was waking up the next day as well.
PERIL #8: COWS
We were Big Kids in middle school now, and so the staff wanted to reward us with a fun tradition. Before going to bed that night, we were instructed to hang a sock at our tent and by our beds, so the staff knew where we were.
Of course, this trip had been a tradition for years and by word-of-mouth, we all knew what was coming. The rumor was that they would wake up the sixth graders very early in the morningâaround 4:30 or maybe 6:30, who knewâand go milk cows. In an activity that could only be considered fun by a camp leader, we would milk the cows ourselves in a field that probably smelled heavily of manure. Joy! We went to bed that night fully dreading the next day, after Christine tied a sock to the post first.
Christine and I woke up the next day feeling positively refreshed. For 4:30 in the morning, we sure were awake! Maybe milking cows would be doable if we felt this good. Everyone else, including the 5th graders, seemed to feel the same way.
Wait. They were going cow milking with us? That had never happened before. Soon I looked into the bright sun. It was clearly much later than 4:30, or even 5 or 6.
Then Christine realized. "Morgan? I think we were supposed to put a sock in front of the tent."
We both looked outside. We had dutifully placed a sock by our beds, but we hadn't done so outside of the tent, so nobody had come to wake us. Somehow, nobody else in the tent had bothered to wake us up either. Perhaps the teachers didn't go on this outing. We heard later that it was indeed to go milk cows, but it was around 6:30 instead of 4:30. Either way, it was over, and we would have survived by now anyway. We laughed it off and continued on our merry way.
Did she do this accidentally or on purpose? There was no way. Not Christine, who was always obedient. It was just a mystery that would live on.
That was my almost-last experience with camping, besides going to Camp Mason in seventh grade, which you'll recall from my princess chapter was much more fun. There was also a traditional camping experience in eighth grade where we'd have to cook our own food and do things like ropes courses. My parents realized I'd had enough, and I escaped that one. We said that I had twisted my ankle carrying my bag down the stairs. And so, on that note, my camping days reached their end. (I should note that I have never confessed the truth to anyone until just now. Sorry, everyone.)
****
This is the part of the chapter where I'm supposed to tell you how I grew; how camping made me a better person. I suppose I survived an experience I didn't like, but don't we all?
I had completed a rite of passage, and that was enough. Rustic camping, especially with team building, was not something I felt the need to do again. Yes, I would be unfortunate enough to do it at a different locale two more times in high school for beginning-of-the-year team bonding, which was probably actually less fun considering the people and activities, but at least it was only for a day.
Still, whenever I happen to catch a whiff in the summer of that perfect blend of sunscreen, heat, bug spray, and canvas tents, I think back to fifth grade. It really was the golden era of childhood...pretend games invented with my sister; story writing and sleepovers with Christine; sleepovers with grandparents, computer activities we knew and loved. And if I had to complete a few days in the woods, so be it.