The story below is an excerpt from our May/June 2017 issue. For the rest of this story and more like it subscribe today, log in to read our digital edition or download our FREE iOS app. Thank you!
First tent, first cookset, first foray into the wild world. Well, not exactly.
Molly Dugger Brennan
I was a Girl Scout. I loved being a Girl Scout. I was in a tiny troop, led by a lovely British woman, Mrs. Eleanora Wembley. Our troop met in the Presbyterian church basement every Tuesday after school. I enjoyed my time in the Scouts listening to Mrs. Wembley so much that still today, I am a sucker for both a British accent and Thin Mints.
Even though we were few in number, we planned a good, old-fashioned camping trip. I plotted like it was the Normandy Invasion. I emptied my piggy bank to buy camping gear. I got a pup tent. Accurate description, pup tent, since it was only big enough for two puppies. I practiced pitching and breaking down my itty-bitty tent until I could knock it out in 10 minutes or less. I was a pup-tenting fool.
I bought a cleverly designed cooking kit, which disassembled to reveal a small mug, plate, sauce pan and skillet. I also got a collapsible shovel and a small hatchet. I was ready.
I couldn’t wait for our camping trip. I was going to test my merit, surviving the harshest elements and wildest beasts. I was the poster child for courage in the wilderness. I was 11.
In reality, our troop of nine girls and three mothers went to Olansky’s pond, the same place we all took swimming lessons every June. We knew this pond and the surrounding area well. It was in the middle of nowhere on the way to nothing, a largish pond or a smallish lake depending on recent rainfall and your point of view.
I was heartbroken. This was like camping in your own backyard. This was no life-changing adventure. How was I supposed to test my mettle at Olansky’s pond? Being a Girl Scout to my bones though, I vowed that I’d make it the best adventure that I could.
First thing I did after pitching my pup tent was go off to dig a latrine. I was sure it would be appreciated by the group. Nope. Seemed like these girls just wanted to tinkle anywhere and everywhere, no organized sanitation at all. I was hurt that my beautifully dug latrine was just pearls before free-piddling swine.
Then came dinner time. I had the tools, I had the know-how, I had hot dogs. I was ready to shine again, and this time I got my opportunity. We all had to bring our own dinner fixings and after some help getting a big fire going, we had to cook our own meal.
Fun Fact 1: Everyone else chose to bring hamburger for dinner.
Fun Fact 2: My little six-inch aluminum skillet was the only frying pan because no one else, not even the chaperones, remembered one.
Fun Fact 3: I became the most popular Girl Scout on the planet as a result of my preparedness.