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We had a short church service at the campout on Saturday evening. Mac gave Dale specific instructions that his sermon was to be no longer than 10 minutes. Unfortunately, Dale got carried away with his preaching and in the process a few of his listeners faded out.

Mac McKinney is in charge of coordinating the campout. Last week, I asked his daughter, Robyn, what she does during the campout. “I just hang out in McKinneyville,” she answered. Having now survived the campout, I can testify that McKinneyville is a sight to behold. I have never seen one family bring so much gear. There were tents, tents, and more tents, canopies, chairs, tables, sleeping bags, grills, coolers, food, food, and more food and anything and everything anyone else in the church could possibly need over the course of the weekend. If a troop of Marines suddenly showed up having lost their gear, I am certain the McKinneys could feed and house them all.

McKinneyville in the Background

Mac arrived to setup camp on Thursday prior to everyone’s arrival on Friday. I was not there to watch the setup, but I did watch Mac and his crew tear down McKinneyville on Sunday. It took them four hours of hard labor to pack it all up.

Breaking Down McKinneyville

Manryville was a bit less elaborate.

Manryville

Tropical Storm Lee decided to crawl slowly north with it’s tropical moisture and pay us a prolonged visit. It started raining on Monday and the rain continued Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday. On Friday morning it finally stopped. My rain gauge measured 11 inches of rain over the 4 days of Lee’s visit: more than two times what we received from hurricane Irene. Hurricane Katia out in the Atlantic blocked Lee from moving east and a stationary front in Ohio blocked Lee from moving West, so he crawled slowly up a very narrow corridor which happened to contain my house. Thankfully, my basement stayed dry. Many people in Virginia, Maryland, D.C., Pennsylvania, and NY were not so lucky. All rivers, creeks, and streams were rushing madly over their banks and many people who live near them were flooded out. DC Traffic yesterday was a nightmare. At one point, parts of I95 and the Beltway were flooded and closed.

Last night I drove down I95 to pick up Abby from her Field Hockey pregame dinner and the rain was coming down in buckets. I hydroplaned; the guy next to me hydroplaned. It was scary. Thankfully, our tires gripped the road again and provided escape from repeating the most quoted phrase spoken by all motorists pulled from their sunroofs by water rescue, “I thought I could get through.”

The campout has many traditions (Pity the person who tries to change one). Mike’s grandson, Laz, listed for Gabe all the traditions that would take place over the course of the weekend. Throughout the weekend, I was told repeatedly, “But Laz says…”

The most scandalous tradition change this year was that Mac did not make chili on Saturday. No one said anything outright, but the mumbling and grumbling throughout the crowd was easy to detect.  The “Eating Beef Stew instead of Chili is not the tradition!” looks were evident on many people’s faces. It took pots of chili hurriedly made by two different chili makers on  Sunday to placate the disgruntled crowd.

Thankfully, the traditional horseback ride up the mountain went ahead as scheduled giving me a funny story to tell. The horseback ride usually manages to turn into a bit of an adventure so this year Abby went along with the brave souls who always undertake it. One of those brave souls is our Fearless Leader Mary (not to be confused with Mountaineering Mary). Fearless Leader Mary is not deterred by her poor vision when it comes to participating in adventurous outings. (She has limited vision and is considered legally blind by the state.) “I like to live on the edge,” she told me, “And during this ride, literally.”

The horses climbed and descended the mountain trail on the very outward edge. “It’s best not to look down,” Mary commented. To add to the treacherous nature, the horses were all disgruntled with each other. Mary’s horse repeatedly bit Abby’s horse until Abby’s horse swung around and bared her teeth. Most of the horses bucked their riders and when the trail took them through a swarm of bees, the horses went skittish. At the start of the ride, the Robyn jokingly gave them all the advice that if their horse bucked them off, they should wrap their arms and legs around a tree. One lady, on the ride with them but not a part of the church campout, took Robyn at her word and did just that. Mary described it as something you see in a cartoon. Everyone watched the woman slide slowly down the tree with occasional pauses collecting splinters throughout until she bumped to the ground.

Having survived the ride up, Mary determined on the descent that she was not going through the bees again and blazed her own trail for a part of the way down. Two guys (on the ride, but not a part of the campout) followed right after her. She led them straight and true as she always does.

The campout horseback ride coordinator, Jochabed, thinking she had escaped the bees unscathed came back to camp to tell the tale. Unfortunately, upon her return to camp, a bee flew down her shirt. She jumped up and took off running faster than anyone had ever seen her run. In an attempt to maintain her modesty, she tried to run behind the tent to throw off her shirt, but instead wiped out in a glorious hands and knees slide. She ended up with a bee sting, a bloody knee, and a camp full of laughter for her efforts. Over the course of the years, the girl somehow manages to have the most spectacular wipeouts. When I arrived to hear the tale, she asked, “Do you know what your husband said?… ‘Jochabed, you are an endless source of amusement to me’.”

The bees loved Jochabed and they also loved Josiah. Sitting down with his meal, he jumped up almost 15 times to escape a diving bee. The bee finally flew off, and he had just started to relax and eat when Dale came up behind him and poked the back of Josiah’s neck with a twig. Josiah jumped higher than before and everyone busted out laughing. Dale laughed loudest of all as he never tires of playing that old trick on his children.

After I arrived at the campout, I drank a lot of tea, listened to crazy stories of all I missed, and stayed up late playing Mexican Train (a game played with dominoes). After midnight, I attempted to fall asleep in our stuffy tent. The weather was hot and humid, there was no breeze, and the cicadas were annoyingly LOUD. I lay there unable to sleep, regretting all of the caffeine I had consumed for energy throughout the day. Meanwhile, my dear husband, who greeted me upon arrival with “I forgot how much I love camping,” was snoring contentedly next to me. I’m unsure why it took him so long to remember this. He has always loved to go to the field (going to the field is military terminology for going camping). While the majority of his fellow soldiers dreaded their days bivouacked in the middle of nowhere, Dale was as happy as can be as long as he had his silver bullet of coffee (Always stay on the good side of the mess hall staff and the sergeant major).

For me, Saturday was a rough night. I dozed off occasionally, walked down to the bathroom a few times, but could never fall into a sound sleep. Dale was supposed to wake up the other two elders to drive back (2+ hours) to church to conduct the morning service. Dale had set the alarm on my watch for 0600, but we both slept through it (Yeah! I was finally asleep). At 0620, Mike (mister reliable) called into the tent, “Dale, it’s 6:20.” Dale and I both woke up, and I lay there listening to Dale get ready: unzip tent, zip tent, open van, take out coffee maker, plug in coffee maker (we got a camping spot with an electrical drop so Dale could plug in his coffee maker), grab change of clothes and toothbrush, close van, walk to bathroom, return from bathroom, open van, drink coffee, eat box of cereal, sit and chat for a bit, close van, get in John’s car, and drive away.

I lay there awake trying to will myself back to sleep full well knowing that a bathroom trip was needed and the walk across the campground would bring me fully awake for the day. After a few minutes I got up. Meanwhile, two spots over, my friend Mountaineering Mary was trying to sleep. Mary is a very light sleeper. I learned this at the women’s retreat because she asked to be in a room the farthest distance from the noise. Mary does not like loud things. (Why she stays friends with me – I am annoyingly LOUD – is a great mystery.) Sunday morning tested our friendship anew. She had woken up to the elders preparation for departure and when they left thought, “Finally, it’s quiet and I can go back to sleep.”

Unfortunately for her, I got up dazed and confused and both the van and the back of the car were so trashed, I could not find anything I needed to get ready for the day. I took the following actions: unzip the tent, zip the tent, realize I left something in the tent, unzip the tent, zip the tent, open the car door, pop the trunk, close the car door, rummage around, close the car trunk, open the van door, rummage around, close the van door, open the van tailgate, rummage around, close the van tailgate, go back and open the car door, pop the trunk, rummage around, close the trunk… The entire time I was thinking: “I know I’m making Mary mad. There is no way she can sleep with all this racket I’m making.” Unfortunately, I could not find anything I needed. The bags I had packed with some semblance of order: food bag, toiletry bag, cooking gear bag now all consisted of a combination similar to the following: marshmallows, baby soap, spatula, pair of socks. After a very long time and a lot of noise, I found what I needed, slammed the door shut one more time, and walked off.

Mary laid there through all the ruckus and thought with much irritation, “Who is making all this noise?” As I walked away, I heard the window of Mary’s tent unzip and she full well admits giving me a death glare to send me on my way. Unfortunately for her, I would soon be back and attempting to find what I needed to make a cup of tea and a bowl of cereal.

Throughout my life, I have lain in bed listening to the racket my mom makes when she gets up in the morning: open drawers and cabinets, close drawers and cabinets (Oh wait, Mom does not close cabinets), bang some dishes, bang some pans, knock something over. She makes a ruckus. She cannot by quiet when she wakes up in the morning.

Now I’m doing the same thing.

How does this happen?