1993
It's morning. I made it to work unscathed. The children made it to school. Ditto.
I just logged onto my big hard drive on my Mac. Beefcake. Password Fabio. My other drives are Fabio, of course, and Hunk. The men around here, for some strange reason, stay off of my computer. Good.
It's a dank, dreary morning and threatening to rain.
Rain I can handle.
It's snow and sleet and mud I can't deal with.
Sand and wind are even acceptable.
I am a mother who survives Boy Scouts. I just came back from yet another camp-out with the Troop. A desert camp-out. Up at Twenty-Nine Palms.
At least it was billed as a desert camp-out.
I have been on this little outing before. It gets cold in the desert. Especially when the skies are clear, the stars shine, and nothing holds the heat on the planet.
I prepared. My youngest son, a twelve year old who might make Eagle scout by 14, packed as well. He is fairly well organized. Except that mother packed gloves, snow boots (for warmth, I told you I'd been there before), and the ski jackets.
We had nylon shells for wind breaking to go over our pants. We had nylon jackets.
For good measure, I ordered him to sleep in my tent. Small chubby boys radiate a lot of heat. We older folks appreciate this on cold evenings. Of course, he's not little anymore. He is almost as tall as I am.
He tells me he has a tent buddy. Great. I was now prepared to freeze.
Also for good measure, I packed three wool blankets. Our sleeping bags are not rated for below 32 degrees. Thermal underwear, wool socks and blankets take care of this on a car campout. That's a campout where you don't have to stuff everything into a backpack. I like them. At least, with three blankets I have a chance to live through the night.
I am to be the late driver. I will drive up after the caravan and tote along two scouts besides my own who also had school or whatever and who for some reason could not take off at noon on Friday.
I am a well prepared Mom.
I pack the car on Thursday night.
I shop on Wednesday.
Why, on Friday, did I finally get informed that I needed to buy eggs and syrup? Did I say he was organized?
I survive this glitch in good time. I am glad I went to work in my scout uniform. It saved time.
I have remembered to get gas for the car. And a shovel. And the first aid kit.
I am the breakfast cook for the over-the-hill patrol. That's the adults. We do our own cooking. This is a self-preservation approach. We also make extra to feed the brain damaged children who think a hot dog (no bun) is a good dinner. Not on a camp-out. Not after running around out doors in the fresh air. Not when it's cold.
I am also going to demonstrate making an apple whatever in a Dutch oven. We feel obligated to teach them something once in a while. I have packed two ovens plus charcoal. I even packed matches.
I have packed wood and the Weber's kettle for a free-standing fireplace. I am frantic. I know I forgot something. I put my kid in the car. He can alert me when the others show up.
My other kid is to baby-sit the Chinchilla babies and the rest of our managerie. He is refusing to help. He's been on this camp out before.
As we finally pull out on the freeway, I find I have acquired too strange beings as passengers. One is in shorts. One has packed the kitchen sink-just not the right sink. Neither is in uniform. Class A (shirt, pants, neat) is required for travel. I remind them of this. Sometimes the troop manages to look like one.
I also find out what I forgot. The freeway at 5 PM does not move. The sun is down. The kids are bored.
One tries to run the car's interior lights so he can read. I think about suggesting a road safety text as his next assignment. This is the same child who opens a window in front of my purse when we finally reach the speed limit and turns the car into a wind tunnel. I threatened to strap him on the roof if he doesn't settle down
My son agreed. "She's serious," he tells them, "I'm still picking wings out of my teeth from the last trip."
We reach a MacDonald's. My car knows where they all are. I find one child thinks he will be cooking in camp (at 10 PM? I think not.) They stagger into the store and I race for the restroom. I can't leave them alone for long. Boys in groups can wreck a store.
They are fairly well organized when I return and we get food. We are going to eat in my car. I'll get it detailed later.
The trip is uneventful. I have made this run before. I recognize the spot where a bag fell out of the truck last year. That was an experience.
Cars suddenly swerved in all directions. They were ours because we were in a caravan that time. I was, again, the last car. I made the shoulder in good time. The bag was struck at 70 mph and laid out on the number two lane. We could see the shoes, upright in the street. The pants were still neatly folded. The socks were rolled. The other scout drivers piled out and stood around confused.
I noted the light traffic (the only reason swerving cars were not struck).
I then violated every rule in the book and backed my van up at 30 mph down the emergency lane, swung out on the freeway and revved into the number two lane. With emergency lights flashing, I then sent my older child and myself running for gear. In seconds we were back in the car and back to the shoulder. It took several minutes for me to calm down. We got everything except the thermos (from WWII) which no one saw, a can of soda, ditto, and his sandwich, which was a smear on the street.
I got complaints because I did not find the thermos!
This trip is a lot calmer. I only got lost once, then found I was OK.
I found the camp site. In the dark, that is a miracle.
My son has slept the last part of the trip. Lucky kid. He discovers that he has no tent buddy. It is so cold I chap my face putting up the tent. My son helps. This is required.
I forgo the lanterns (I brought two) and use the car headlights. I can be very fast when I need to be. My son is a little help but mostly cold. He gets his pad and sleeping bag into the tent. I bring the luggage. Everything else can wait for morning. I stuff him into his sleeping bag. I can't even see his face. He sleeps fully clothed, in jacket, with the soft duffel bag over his feet. I tuck him in under a blanket and find the rest room.
The two other kids are struggling with a tent. Then they decide they can't possibly fit into a tent together. I remind them that I have more stuff than they do and that my son and I are fine. I tell them ways to solve their problem. They choose the least offensive. They are going to be in that tent because I don't know where other tents are and everyone else is asleep. Where I want to be. I am freezing.
I actually change into thermals and sweats, dry socks, gloves and a hat and make it into my sleeping bag. It's not too bad. Ha!
By 3 AM I am also in my ski jacket. My son is pretty clever. He is also not radiating enough heat. What happened to those early campouts with two kids, one on each side, keeping mother warm? I suppose kids have to grow up. And no, I won't bring the dogs along as their replacements.
Morning dawns better than I expected and the kids are up by 6 AM. Actually, my son had kissed me awake at 5 AM then decided to stay in bed. I got my coffee. That's mandatory. It is someone else's turn to cook breakfast. I get two pancakes and a strip of bacon, I am cutting down on fat. These go well with orange juice and Cappuccino. We are going to drive to the rocks. There are none at this camp ground. We have running water and flush toilets, but no rocks. The kids prefer the primitive camp and tell us. The kids are eating pancakes too.
They manage some form of cleanup. I discover one den (my son's) using paper plates and cups and I go nuts. Wrong move! We are to learn to boil water and clean things on these outings. Its the only time they wash their hands.
We drive 30 miles to the trail, then randomly hike around (were we lost?) in freezing winds and high sun. The sky is clear. It is cold. The kids are having a ball. My son disappears around the rocks to an eroded cave and makes me find him. It really is beautiful country. This is Joshua Tree. And there are Joshua trees everywhere. Although many are not doing well there is evidence that this year saw some blooms. There are white, papery remnants on the trees. There are a number of plants and cacti around. The kids are oblivious but the adults notice.
We head back and I note the cloud bank that has not yet reached us. I am from the east coast. I swear under my breath. I know what's coming.
It's time to cook lunch. Grilled cheese. One group makes them with tacos. Casa Deas. The adults opt for sack lunches. The afternoon will be spent in first aid training. Selected patrols will assist the adults in cooking beef stew and my apple thing.
Well, we planned it that way.
By 4 PM we were already in thermal underwear. By 5 PM we were in full battle gear. I wore two jackets. One scout helped cook my apple thing. One scout helped with the stew. The other groups were cooking and sort of cleaning. (I rousted one scout out of bed later to sort of finish. Thank God I did.)
They had a 15 minute campfire. Oh well.
We trouped them down for the ranger's slide show and then hurried them into bed. By 830. Early. We were cold. I did not change. My son never changes on a weekend trip. I know this because I find neatly folded underwear undisturbed in his bag when he comes home. I copy him. I'll be darned if I will change in this weather.
At 5 AM I awoke to the sounds of rain on the tent.
No, that is not rain. That is snow.
Heavy, packing snow.
I remember what I forgot.
The chains.
I troupe to the rest room.
I leave virgin tracks.
I come back and move the car.
I said I was from the east coast.
I know how to rock a car to unstick it. I remember why I drive a stick shift.
I get moved and use the headlights again. The lantern is buried and I need to find it. 3 inches and falling. I don't care about breakfast. I am loading my car.
By 6 AM the camp is up with the instructions to load and go. We will eat at MacDonalds. Sleepy children who are not prepared for this do not move fast.
The snow has become mud by 7am. Tents are a mess. Boots are soaked. I went through two pairs and three pairs of gloves.
I am so glad that the boys had their patrol boxes closed and clean.
By 8:30 we are on the road, camp cleaned, kids packed. I am bringing four tents back.
I have dressed two kids in garbage bags (no proper gear).
I have found others who did not bring hiking boots, they choose to bring two pairs of sneakers.
I have lectured everyone on how to clean a tent. After rolling them up in the mud, the tents are a mess. They are shoved inside garbage bags just to fit in my car.
Someone with a truck has my fireplace.
I have three cold and muddy children in my car.
MacDonalds looks great. It is hot and dry. The cars in the parking lot have no snow on them. I grab breakfast for four and drive.
It takes four hours to get home. It requires one more stop at a MacDonalds. I need my coffee.
It took 12 hours to finish the washing.
I still haven't taken the stuff back to storage.
I'm sneezing.
Like I said, I can handle the rain.
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