Camping was the highlight of my grade school years. We camped for one weekend every month from Spring through Fall, with the highlight being two weeks in summer at Camp Ma-ka-ja-wan in northern Wisconsin.
My first campout might well have been my last. It rained and I dried my tennies too close to the fire and melted them. But I soon figured out how to pack a duffel bag properly and to bring extra shoes and came to love being away from Mom and Dad for a few days. I think they liked it, too.
The summer trips to Ma-ka-ja-wan weren't as rough as the campouts. The tents had wooden floors, for one. Each village had showers and a latrine. And there was a mess hall for meals. I went there for two summers, around sixth and seventh grades.
There were about a dozen camps on the grounds. We always stayed in Chippewa Village. The mess hall included each village singing its campsong. Ours went like this:
Chick-a-laka, chick-a-laka,
chow, chow, chow,
Boom-a-laka, boom-a-laka,
Bow wow wow
Chick-a-laka, boom-a-laka
sis boom bah
Chippewa Village
Rah, rah, rah!
The second trip included my induction to the Order of the Arrow, a super-secret honorary orgnization which drafted the guys who best idealized scouting. And the guys whose best friend's dad was the scoutmaster, which I'm sure accounts for my induction.
The induction bonfire was a highlight of a stay at Ma-ka-ja-wan. All of the 300 or so campers sat around a huge bowl cut into the earth to witness a ritual which included guys dressed as Indians chanting solemn oaths and singing Indian songs. Whole birch trees were shorn of their branches and stacked 30 feet high in a square. Flames rose above the tree tops while the guys dressed as Indians jumped around through the scouts grabbing the ones who would be inducted that year.
I was whisked off into a line with the other inductees and ordered not to speak, an order which stood for the next 36 hours. We marched through the woods to a secret campsite, where our sleeping bags had been delivered. The following day we performed all kinds of service work for the camp, mostly chopping down trees. It was a survival weekend, so we got through the day on nuts and berries and fished in a creek for that night's grub. We slept under the stars both nights. There were no latrines or T.P., but we were instructed which kinds of leaves are NOT suitable for this chore.
Tell the truth, I wasn't crazy about the experience, but on the whole, Scouting was the greatest part of my grade school years. It's where I learned not to be afraid of long walks. It's where I developed a sense of direction that is still with me. It's where I learned about the stars in the sky, the constellations. I learned how to swim in a pool near home, but I learned how to swim a mile at camp. I learned how to use a knife, how to tie knots, how to paddle a canoe and a million other things I never would have learned at home.
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Comments
Do they have a badge for great writer?
Great post!
Your camp sounds pretty amazing -- hokey, but I wish I'd gone there.
And you write about it very well -- thanks.
:-)
I loved this piece. The skills you acquired - as well as lessons learned - were things I could relate to easily.
You write with an ability to draw interest to detail. That’s a skill many lack while others abuse. You make the odds and ends as interesting as the piece itself. Thank you for the post.
Rated and appreciated.
p.s. I half-believe the camps compose those chants as a means of triggering the memories later in life.
Talk about luxurious!
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Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Jimmy. Peace.