In the fall of my 12th year, I had gotten involved in scouting, and was learning by method of gaining merit badges. In those days the Boy Scouts had some interesting merit badges that went out of fashion for the times. They even used to have one for marksmenship, but I understand now they can't even carry a sheath knife so I guess firearms are out of the question.
One merit badge I was after was Camp Crafts. This involved the building of camp items like chairs, fire tripods for cooking, and such. It was sometimes permitted for a scout to team up with another scout if the plans were ambitious enough. A kid across the street from my house, Everett Snyder, was in my troop, and we teamed up to make a rustic camp complete with two chairs and a table for our Camp Crafts merit badge. Ev and I had teamed up before on the troop shooting team so we worked well together.
The fatefull camping trip arrived and it was to Gun Farm. This was going to be torture of the highest degree. While we were working on our project, the other scouts were going shooting. Exept for poor Bobby Ryerson who was trying for a merit badge in fire making. He'd be in camp with us, geting ready for Examination by Mr. Van. When we had arrived at the camp site, Mr. Van pointed out a big pile of cut sapplings from a construction land clearning site, and Ev and me got to work. Mr. Van being Mr. Van, insisted that all work be done with our pocket knives! I had my Camillus scout knife dad had given me that past Christmas, and my Imperial barlow. Ev had his Ulster scout knife. Those knives would be tested that day!
As the afternoon wore on, me and Ev notched away. We notched some more. And when we were tired of notching, we kept notching. To this day I blame my poor handwriting on the deformation of the bones in my right hand formed that day making camp furnature with a pocket knife. Mr. Van had allowed us one half used ball of twine for cordage.
Finally in late afternoon Ev and me got it done. We had a fire pit with a nice pot suspending tripod, a small table, and two chairs. We were really proud of ourselves, having done the deed while tormented by the sounds of not to distant rifle fire. Dinner was simmering in a large coffee can suspended over the low fire. Hobo stew, consisting of some ground beef, chopped up onion, diced celery, sliced carrots, a can of Cambells Cream of Mushroom soup, some spices. Mr. Van came walking over to our camp, accompanied by my dad who was carryng a clipboard with the merit badge papers on it. Over the last year, dad and Mr. Van had become friends as had mom and Mrs. Van. As a result, dad would go along on our scouting trips to assist.
They first went over to Bobby Ryersons fire site. Bobby had really worked hard on making the perfect teepee fire. He had ground up pine bark, sticky with resin he had peeled from a tree with his scout knife, between a couple of rocks and made his tinder layer. He had painstakingly layered toothpick sized kindling, then small sticks. This had to be a one match fire, with Mr. Van giving him the match.
Mr. Van got down on one knee and peered at Bobby's layout. He knodded approvingly and then stood up and took out a single match from his pocket. Handing it to Bobby, I couldn't see if Ryersons hand shook, but he looked like he wanted to hide someplace. This was it, live or die by one match. He got down and struck the match and gently stuck in to the tinder.
The Red Gods Of Fate were with Bobby Ryerson that day, the ground up pine bark with the resin in it flaired up, and in a short breath minute a yellow hungrey fire was going. Ryerson fed it some finger size sticks and it grew. It lived. Bobby Ryerson sucseeded in something in front of the whole troop.
Then it was our turn.
It's a funny thing how life can be moving along, then in a moment slow to a frozen eternity. Dad and Mr. Van looked at our table and chairs, sniffed at the hobo stew cooking for dinner and made an approving look. Then Mr. Van knodded to dad, and they went to sit down in our chairs. Ev and me stole a quick glance of horror at each other. It had never really occured to us that they would actually use our chairs.
Time came to a complete stop.
There was ominous groaning from the sapling chairs as Mr. Van and dad sat down. Creaks, groans, and a squeek here and there as their weight settled in.
Nothing happened.
To this day I don't know if dad and Mr. Van had a prior agreement to torment me and Ev, but slowly reaching into the top pocket of his red and black checkered wool shirt Mr. Van took out a deck of cards. Dad took the deck and cut them, handing them back to Mr. Van who shuffled and delt out five cards to each of them. Dad leaned forward with his elbows on the table and examined his hand, and Mr. Van leaned back in his chair, all accompanied by wood groans. At this point I don't think either Ev or me were breathing.
Dad tossed out a card and Mr. Van delt another. They played a hand of poker while me and Ev died a slow death from lack of oxygin. Then Mr. Van gathered up the cards and nodded at dad who made a pass mark in the appropriate spot on the paper, and they gave us a nod of approval. Getting up they proceeded on to the next scout waiting for his merit badge exam, and as dad passed, he gave me a smile and winked.
I guess there are more important things than neat handwriting.
One merit badge I was after was Camp Crafts. This involved the building of camp items like chairs, fire tripods for cooking, and such. It was sometimes permitted for a scout to team up with another scout if the plans were ambitious enough. A kid across the street from my house, Everett Snyder, was in my troop, and we teamed up to make a rustic camp complete with two chairs and a table for our Camp Crafts merit badge. Ev and I had teamed up before on the troop shooting team so we worked well together.
The fatefull camping trip arrived and it was to Gun Farm. This was going to be torture of the highest degree. While we were working on our project, the other scouts were going shooting. Exept for poor Bobby Ryerson who was trying for a merit badge in fire making. He'd be in camp with us, geting ready for Examination by Mr. Van. When we had arrived at the camp site, Mr. Van pointed out a big pile of cut sapplings from a construction land clearning site, and Ev and me got to work. Mr. Van being Mr. Van, insisted that all work be done with our pocket knives! I had my Camillus scout knife dad had given me that past Christmas, and my Imperial barlow. Ev had his Ulster scout knife. Those knives would be tested that day!
As the afternoon wore on, me and Ev notched away. We notched some more. And when we were tired of notching, we kept notching. To this day I blame my poor handwriting on the deformation of the bones in my right hand formed that day making camp furnature with a pocket knife. Mr. Van had allowed us one half used ball of twine for cordage.
Finally in late afternoon Ev and me got it done. We had a fire pit with a nice pot suspending tripod, a small table, and two chairs. We were really proud of ourselves, having done the deed while tormented by the sounds of not to distant rifle fire. Dinner was simmering in a large coffee can suspended over the low fire. Hobo stew, consisting of some ground beef, chopped up onion, diced celery, sliced carrots, a can of Cambells Cream of Mushroom soup, some spices. Mr. Van came walking over to our camp, accompanied by my dad who was carryng a clipboard with the merit badge papers on it. Over the last year, dad and Mr. Van had become friends as had mom and Mrs. Van. As a result, dad would go along on our scouting trips to assist.
They first went over to Bobby Ryersons fire site. Bobby had really worked hard on making the perfect teepee fire. He had ground up pine bark, sticky with resin he had peeled from a tree with his scout knife, between a couple of rocks and made his tinder layer. He had painstakingly layered toothpick sized kindling, then small sticks. This had to be a one match fire, with Mr. Van giving him the match.
Mr. Van got down on one knee and peered at Bobby's layout. He knodded approvingly and then stood up and took out a single match from his pocket. Handing it to Bobby, I couldn't see if Ryersons hand shook, but he looked like he wanted to hide someplace. This was it, live or die by one match. He got down and struck the match and gently stuck in to the tinder.
The Red Gods Of Fate were with Bobby Ryerson that day, the ground up pine bark with the resin in it flaired up, and in a short breath minute a yellow hungrey fire was going. Ryerson fed it some finger size sticks and it grew. It lived. Bobby Ryerson sucseeded in something in front of the whole troop.
Then it was our turn.
It's a funny thing how life can be moving along, then in a moment slow to a frozen eternity. Dad and Mr. Van looked at our table and chairs, sniffed at the hobo stew cooking for dinner and made an approving look. Then Mr. Van knodded to dad, and they went to sit down in our chairs. Ev and me stole a quick glance of horror at each other. It had never really occured to us that they would actually use our chairs.
Time came to a complete stop.
There was ominous groaning from the sapling chairs as Mr. Van and dad sat down. Creaks, groans, and a squeek here and there as their weight settled in.
Nothing happened.
To this day I don't know if dad and Mr. Van had a prior agreement to torment me and Ev, but slowly reaching into the top pocket of his red and black checkered wool shirt Mr. Van took out a deck of cards. Dad took the deck and cut them, handing them back to Mr. Van who shuffled and delt out five cards to each of them. Dad leaned forward with his elbows on the table and examined his hand, and Mr. Van leaned back in his chair, all accompanied by wood groans. At this point I don't think either Ev or me were breathing.
Dad tossed out a card and Mr. Van delt another. They played a hand of poker while me and Ev died a slow death from lack of oxygin. Then Mr. Van gathered up the cards and nodded at dad who made a pass mark in the appropriate spot on the paper, and they gave us a nod of approval. Getting up they proceeded on to the next scout waiting for his merit badge exam, and as dad passed, he gave me a smile and winked.
I guess there are more important things than neat handwriting.
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Rifle Shooting, Shotgun Shooting and Archery are the three marksmanship badges. Had Rifle, didn't have the cash to do Shotgun at summer camp (I can shoot well, but they charged a quarter a shell for .410).
