Campfires are dangerous and like many things in life, need to be respected. Growing up in Indiana will most likely cause you to end up at some point in one or two places for an outdoor weekend with your family, Turkey Run and/or Racoon Lake. I’ve done both. Great activities like hiking, fishing and camping await you when you arrive. I have to admit, the first time I went camping with my family, I got the bug. I loved nature, the camping equipment, the hiking and the campfires.
Some of my earliest memories date back to these weekends of outdoor fun. Every time we went, we would have more fabulous camping gear packed in the trunk of our car. We never really had much money, so to accomplish these purchases my parents began collecting S&H Green Stamps. My dad signed up for the popular rewards program and would make sure to grab them at the local grocery store and gasoline station that we frequented. Operated by the Sperry & Hutchinson company which was founded way back in 1896 by Thomas Sperry and Shelley Byron Hutchinson, they became quite popular in the United States up until circa 1980. My dad would get them by the page full and my mom would put them in our Quick-Saver Book while her kids gathered around the table with an extended tongue for the licking. I would lick so many stamps that my tongue would turn green. I didn’t care though, I liked the taste of the stamp glue and can still taste it to this day in my mind’s nose. I would snatch the S&H catalog before my brothers to get a good look at what was available in the Camping Section. There were lanterns, sleeping bags, first aid kits and tents. Oh, the tents were amazing and it took a lot of stamps to even think about bringing one of those babies home.
When I became a boy scout, I took it as the most important mature responsibility I had ever accepted to that point in my life. I read the boy scout guide book, cover to cover, so many times it looked like it had been through a serious scrap with a wildebeest. I dreamed of getting ALL of the merit badges and belt-tile awards as well. I studied the necessary steps it would take to become an Eagle Scout. The glory! The glory! That first summer I wore my uniform around the house everyday and it drove my mother crazy.
After being fully schooled in the art & science of camping and having the merit badge to prove authenticity, I dreamed of my next trip to Racoon Lake and planned for everything, so I would “BE PREPARED” as the boy scout motto goes.
One day in mid-summer, I got the news. My dad had invited his old friend, Chuck and his two boys, to join him and his three. We were going to Racoon Lake! Just men! We were going to live off the land like the olden days and I was never more prepared, with all of my newly learned knowledge. Look out Racoon Lake, here we come!
When the special day arrived, I was ready. I had packed and re-packed everything I needed the night before. Compass – check, Swiss Army knife – check, canteen – check, flashlight – check, three days worth of clothes – check, sleeping bag – check. I had it all. We loaded up our car and my two brothers and I climbed into our camping-bound car with my dad. Smiles radiated everyone’s faces. The sun was shining that early morning as we pulled up in front of Chuck’s house. The boys were finishing the loading of their camping gear. Soon we were on our way. It was a 2 hour, 50 minute drive straight down “good old” US41 highway and we hit it like Lewis & Clarke embarking on discoveries yet unknown.
Setting up a campsite is serious business as only a well educated boy scout would know. There were necessities and there were priorities. My dad took the natural role as leader and began assigning tasks to the boys, both sets. He and Chuck set about pitching the tents. I was assigned firewood collection with my younger brother Charlie. A well-trained boy scout knows instinctively what wood is good and what wood is bad for a campfire. I shared my wealth of knowledge with him and suspected he was amazed at my vast skill set. We collected the large logs for major fire stoking, the medium size for growing hindered fires, and the small branches for getting the whole business underway. By lunch time, we had more or less secured a well functioning campsite. Nothing left but minor details at this point. A cooler was popped open and lunch preparation began. Simple cold cut sandwiches with chips and soda was the fare. While we ate and drank, we talked about dinner. Both Chuck and dad were dead set on going fishing and bringing back a free meal of largemouth bass and bluegill, big enough to feed us all, twice! Sounded good to me.
After lunch, I took the KP Duty and got the freshly cleaned dishes dried and stored for the next meal. My older brother Bob suggested a trail hike and exploring. Why not? I’m in. We must have made a better part of a mile from our encampment when I realized I had to go to the bathroom. A strange term to use while hiking in the wilderness. It was turning into a pressing moment for me and I knew I could not get back in time to use an outhouse near our camp. As we approached a turn in the trail running along a ravine, my brother spotted an old dead tree laying crossing the width of the chasm. The nearer end was forked. Bob turned to me and said, “There’s your toilet right there. ” “Really?” I said to myself. I think at this point I started gathering a list of reasons as to why I might not make camping a lifetime activity. With a large leaf laying down below and my pants back up, I was ready to leave this behind me, forever. I had never read about anything like this in my trusty boy scout guide.
By the time we got back to our settlement, the two adults were gathering their fishing gear on the picnic table near the fire. “Someone needs to stay behind and watch the fire”, Chuck announced. Well, nobody wanted to do that. One of the biggest reasons for being here was the lake. After a while of sheer silence I decided to do the right thing a boy scout should do and volunteered. We were going to be here three whole days. I’ll get to the lake on the next trip. “I’ll do it”, I asseverated. “Ok, just keep the fire going so when we return we can cook dinner” My dad said. “You’ve got it. Hope the fish are biting!” I said, and it was settled. Minutes later the whole troop marched off in line down the trail to the lake while I took the responsibility of maintaining a good fire, an excellent fire, for my team.
Nature is an amazing thing. If you slow down and let it all wash over you, you will begin to see things you had previously overlooked. The tiniest insects, the spiders that are actually too close to your liking, the way trees grow to their advantages. I sat in an utterly empty forest with nothing to keep me company but my campfire, keeping quiet and observing. I wondered if there was a merit badge for this. Maybe I should take notes. I entered my tent, opened my backpack and extracted a pencil & paper. Returning outside to the campsite, I noticed that the fire was getting low so I put a large log on top and settled back into my seat at the picnic table to start jotting down observations all around me. I noticed the log wasn’t catching and the fire looked even a bit more frail. I should have used medium sized logs. Ugh! A good scout would have known that. As I approached our firewood stash, I spotted a gallon tin of kerosene and thought that I could make better time of this by tossing a bit of the fuel onto the log. So I did.
A huge blaze formed before me lighting the campsite and the trees above, under a descending late-afternoon sun. As I withdrew the tin can, to my complete surprise, I had withdrawn a ring of fire around the can’s opening as well. I was holding a gallon of explosive fuel that was going to make sure that I would never touch a piano some years later. This can’t be! So what to do? I’m sure if I checked my scout guide it would have had a great idea, but I did something else. I ran back to the picnic table with said-bomb-in-hand and reached for the tin can lid. Slowly and in fanatical madness, I attempted to screw the lid on despite the fire before me. I am ashamed to admit I miss-threaded twice before securing the lid on and tight. With a soft blow past my lips, the fire was out and I could grow up and learn the piano after all.
Was I a hero or was I a fool, who’s to say? I only know that, that day, I learned to count on myself in times of crisis and that kind of thinking builds the character of a true Boy Scout.
Did I tell my dad? Hell no, I’m not stupid.
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