Aug 30 2013
The Manry Dixon Line
Yes, it’s that time of year again. Time for the “toxic dust” campout. Each year, members of our church camp together in the hills of Virginia. The Manry Clan has attended the campout for the last two years and I fear the only escape for me is to leave the country.
The campout is all about tradition: where you set up, what you eat, what songs you sing. Anyone who attempts to change the traditions is met with stiff opposition.
Last year, Pastor Ted proposed having a schedule of events: game time, swim time, song time. This “Are you crazy?” plan was fiercely opposed. “The purpose of the campout is to camp. All we do is camp. Other than Saturday evening church service, there is no schedule of events,” he was sternly informed.
I think his excuse this year: “We need to get the house ready. We’ll just come up for one day,” was greatly influenced by “There ain’t never been a schedule and there ain’t never gonna be a schedule.”
This year, the church has not had great success recruiting new campers. Church members give excuses like “My husband is out of town” and “We have baseball practice.” (Oh wait. Those are just the excuses of my very singular friend.)
I, of course, resent these non-attenders. If I have to suffer, shouldn’t they?
Another stalwart tradition is “This is where I always set up.” This is a holdover tradition from church service where “our row” is fiercely guarded by Gabe. Other families guard their rows as well. I suspect they really don’t like to see the pulpit from another angle. Some church members do not adhere to the “you must sit in the same place” church regulation, the Robyn for one. You never know where that girl is gonna turn up. She tells me it’s because she’s ninja.
New campout attenders have to guess where it is o.k. to pitch their tent for fear they will set up on “so and so’s spot.” The Manry Clan has not attended the campout long enough to be “so and so” and have taken other people’s spots in ignorance. This has resulted in a bit of grumbling.
(To be quite honest, Dale loves to create trouble and cause grumbling. Or as his family down south says “He loves to stir the pot.”)
Last year, our spot had one major fault. The fire pit was hidden behind the tent. This would have been perfectly fine if we only had adults sitting around our campfire, but we had kids playing the “let’s light a stick on fire and swing it around” game.
This game resulted in one burn scar on a child’s face.
Wanting desperately to prevent the “children get burned” campout tradition from starting, I talked to Denise about how we could set up together to give us both sight line of the fire pit. (This, of course, lines up with my “Ask Denise” life mantra.)
We both printed out a map of the campground and discussed the spots we knew people would already be set up in and which remaining spots might fulfill the requirement. We could not figure out the solution.
Then, last Saturday, I received a text from Denise. “Guess where I am?” it said and included a picture of the campsite. “I think these two spots will work just fine.”
It is a 2 hour drive from Denise’s house to the campsite. When I asked in disbelief, “Denise, you drove all the way out there just to figure this out?”
She replied, “I’m an Army brat. I know when I’m going to war, I have to survey the terrain.”
This year at the campout, there will be a Manry Dixon line. Cross it at your own risk.
I am a ninja, and somebody has to mix things up here and there. this is why I was born…