‘Five Hundred Miles’
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
AT SUMMER camps across the state, children gather around campfires every evening.
Slick with bug spray, sticky from melted marshmallows, those youngsters are singing songs like “This Little Light of Mine (I’m gonna let it shine)”.
Kids beware: a camp song can ride your mind for the rest of your life. In 30, 40 years, “Baby Bumble Bee” will still buzz in your brain like a man-eating mosquito.
Once learned, you will never forget “Greasy Grimy Gopher Guts,” because not only is it a favored gross-out song, but that wonderful literary tool of alliteration makes “mutilated monkey meat” way too easy to remember.
But the tune that always takes me back to the banks of the Ninnescah River is the melancholy “Five Hundred Miles.” Standing at the campfire’s edge under a midnight-blue sky, a counselor strummed his guitar and put just the right amount of longing into being 100, 200, 500 miles away from home.
Some camps are held indoors, such as basketball, cheerleading, computer and music camps. But many are set in the Kansas wilderness where kids meet spiders and snakes — sometimes in the bathhouse, much to one’s surprise in the middle of the night.
I think I was 10 years old the first year I went away to camp. My friend, Amy, and I had saved our allowances for church camp and our parents paid the rest. Then they hauled us a hundred miles to Camp Mennoscah in Kingman County near Murdock. (Ninnescah River + Mennonites = Camp Mennoscah.)
It’s easy to romance the concept of summer camp, but honestly, I don’t know why I ever thought it would be a good idea. Back then I was incredibly shy. And if I had known that Amy would not be with me 24/7 (she was assigned to Moonbeam cabin; I was in the nearby Starlight), I might not have been so eager to sign up.
Shyness was a curse. Starting a conversation with a stranger was nearly impossible. And I also blushed easily which brought negative attention. Because my face was often crimson, I became grateful for sunburns which provided camouflage.
Luckily, the seven or eight other girls in my cabin were friendly. As we chose our bunks, Sheila broke the ice by demonstrating her ability to recite the alphabet while belching. She gave lessons.
And Jean from Moundridge became a friend and later a pen pal, one I would write to for the next five or six years.
Those seven days held moments of anxiety but there were also times when I felt at home. And then there was the pool incident.
I took to camp a never-worn, two-piece swimsuit. This was back in the ’60s, so think double-knit, thick polyester. When I jumped into the small pool, I discovered that the swimsuit took on water like a towel.
Apparently I didn’t yet have a grasp of physics because I climbed out of the pool to make my first dive.
I ran down the gritty board, took a little bounce and dove off the end; my body sliced cleanly through the water. The force of entering the pool pulled the water-heavy swimsuit bottoms right off my hips — a moment of pre-teen horror if ever there was one.
Thankfully, the swimsuit tangled at my ankles instead of floating to the surface. As I frantically pulled up the bottoms, I felt heat rush to my face; I blushed underwater.
When I surfaced, no one was pointing or laughing, so apparently the secret was mine. But that traitorous swimsuit could have been the end of me. Thereafter, I wore a T-shirt over the suit and gave up diving.
I returned to Camp Mennoscah the following year and later attended a Girl Scout camp as well as Rocky Mountain Mennonite Camp. I worked at making friends — and bought a trustworthy swimsuit.
Camp presented challenges for a shy kid, but the painful and embarrassing moments were balanced out by the good times, especially the campfires and singing together under the stars.
As the glow of the fire landed upon our faces, we felt unified and connected — because all of us were, in one way or another, five hundred miles away from home.
“Flyover People” is online at www.flyoverpeople.net.
Cheryl Unruh can be reached at cheryl@flyoverpeople.net.
Comments
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Posted by YY4U (anonymous) on July 14, 2009 at 9:28 p.m. (Suggest removal)
French fried eyeballs swimming in a...........Now you got that song stuck in my head :-) ..........Great story! Thanks.
Posted by create (anonymous) on July 14, 2009 at 9:34 p.m. (Suggest removal)
Here you go YY...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jdRtaowJq...
:)
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