in which I thought I would die

This past weekend was supposed to be our first camping weekend of the season.  I had helped to organize a camping trip for about twenty Cub Scouts and their families at the Blue Ridge Scout Reservation in Hiwassee, VA. 

We would camp at Camp Powhatan, located in the mountains of Virginia.  Close communities include Draper, Pulaski, and Dublin.  To get to camp, one must drive out into BFE, crisscrossing a stream via low-water bridges and traversing an old gravel road.  The path seems to go on forever, before you finally pass through the camp entrance.  You really are out in the middle of nowhere.

Friday evening, my family prepared to drive into camp to meet up with a few other families who were part of our "advance crew."  We would set up camp before nightfall so that there would be less rush before the Pack arrived Saturday morning.  This is typical of any camping event that I plan; we always go early to make sure we are ready for the group.

We stopped in Dublin, VA on the way to drop Katie off with Nana, who would be taking care of her all weekend.  We also got gas.  While we were at the station, I noticed that the sky seemed to be clouding up a little, but thought that the rain might hold off for awhile.  At 7:30 PM, we arrived in camp.

 

As we pulled in to our campsite, with another family on our tail, the volunteer Campmaster arrived.  Figuring it was a social greeting, I walked up to say hello.  That's when I heard the words that I have feared ever since the devastation at a Scout Camp in Iowa in 2007.  "Don't unpack," he told us.  "There's a tornado warning for four counties."  The warning included Pulaski County, our current location.

We were ushered up to the Dining Hall, a cavernous building at the center of camp.  I had never realized just how the unsubstantial the building seemed until we had to use it as a makeshift shelter.  The building serves its purpose well as a dining hall, but I sure didn't feel secure on Friday night.  There are a few walls that separate the kitchen area from the dining area, screen windows, and two Big Ass Fans.  If I remember correctly, it is a steel building on a concrete foundation.  However, it was our best bet to get out of the incoming storm.  Many other buildings were locked for the season or too far away to reach within a short amount of time.

As we entered the main dining area, the lights began to flicker, and then went out.  We had only the two emergency lights to rely on, as nobody had taken the time to grab a flashlight from their vehicles.  Let me tell you... an ominous feeling fills the air when the power goes out as a bad ass storm approaches.  I felt as if I was in the middle of a bad horror movie.  The air was still, but we could hear the thunder and see the flashes of lightning.  The sky was slowly turning a strange color of green.  "Well, at least it isn't raining," I cheerfully observed.  Then, the downpour began.

Rain pounded the metal roof and the trees violently swayed in the wind.  If a tree fell across the road, we were told, we wouldn't be able to get out until someone came in to cut it down.  Brilliant news!  If the water rose and crossed the bridges, we also wouldn't be able to get out until it went down.  How fabulous!  The storm kicked up another notch.  Looking through the windows, it appeared as if we were floating in a pot of green soup.  All visibility was gone.  No one could hear anyone else over the roar of the storm above us.

Our two families sat against the innermost wall as the storm passed overhead.  My husband, brave fellow, walked around the dining hall, observing the sights through the various windows and peeking through the door.  Later, he claimed that he saw a "strange trail of smoke" coming from the top of one of the surrounding mountains.

As the worst of the storm let up, another one of our leaders came in the back door.  He had been out in the midst of it, trying to reach camp with his son.  Not long after he arrived, another wave of wind and water came through.

We decided that we would spend the night in the Dining Hall.  The rest of the night was no less eventful.  My husband and I drove to Dublin to pick up the last few supplies we needed for the Scouts.  While there, we learned that tornadoes had touched down in nearby Pulaski.  Upon returning to camp, we learned that we had a fourth Pack leader on the reservation, but we had no clue where he was.  There are three camp grounds within the confines of the Blue Ridge Scout Reservation and, we assumed, he could be at any of the three.  After alerting the Campmasters and the Ranger, we ultimately located him in a tent in the area in which we were supposed to camp, but it was a harrowing thought that he and his son may have met danger.

Soon after, we learned that there was a strong possibility that the stream would be over the bridges the next morning and that we would be stuck in camp.  At that point, my husband and I decided to throw in the towel and leave.  If the bridges were to be flooded, our campers would not be able to get to camp, nor would we be able to leave.  Additionally, we had no idea as to the safety of our daughter and John's mother, who were traveling through the worst of the storm.  It was time to go.

The other three leaders opted to stay the night, justifying the decision by the idea that it was better to stay put if you were safe, than to venture out into the woods.  More storms moved through the area that evening, but none so bad as the first.  They all arrived home safely Saturday afternoon.

To the Campmasters who were watching for us to arrive, I am grateful.  Though the Dining Hall would have been blown to bits had a tornado hit, we were safer there than anywhere else.  We were also very fortunate that we were not struck by a tornado.  If you take a look at the map below, Hiwassee is located directly to the southeast of Draper, in the line of the two tornadoes that touched down in Pulaski and Draper, rated EF-2 and EF-1, respectively.  God was looking out for us that night and, for that, I am humbled.

Roanoke Times

Friday evening, there were more than 400 residences destroyed in Pulaski County, and 50 others were damaged.  Clean-up is in progress and there are many families who have lost everything.  This was the worst tornado-producing storm to strike Virginia in seven years.

John's mom and Katie were fine.  While they were driving on I-81, they would have passed exit 92, where the tornado crossed the interstate, about ten minutes before the storm got really bad.

View tornado damage here.
Roanoke Times story covering damage caused by Pulaski tornadoes.

national camp school

Pussy cat, pussy cat, where have you been?

I've been to Brown Summit to see the Queen.

Pussy cat, pussy cat, what did you do there?

All weekend I did nothing but sit in a chair.

Queen Robin, that is, camp director or lead instructor or something of the Boy Scout's of America's Southern Region Camp School that was held this past weekend.  I suppose she was more of a cowgirl than a queen, but whatever.  And, I didn't quite sit in a chair all weekend, but it certainly felt like it.  

We enjoyed 15 hour days with a few breaks and a few games.  Luckily, the staff was so goofy that we had lots of laughs.  And we won dingle-dangles for our den flags.  So, it wasn't so bad.  But, it was tiring.

I have come home exhausted, with a newfound respect for all the camp directors who put on quality camps each year.  To be honest, I'm still overwhelmed, but I'm going to break down what I need to do into baby steps and try to accomplish one or two a day.  I have three months and one week to pull it together and I will most definitely need all of that time. 

something witty

I feel like I should be writing an absolutely brilliant post right now, since I'm Friday's Featured Blogger over at Mommy Only Has Two Hands (which is AWESOME, by the way. Much thanks to Heather!). But, I've got nothing.

  

Nothing terribly witty or brilliant, that is.  Quite honestly, I'm feeling exhausted and overwhelmed at the moment.  The house looks like... well, let's just say that I would refuse to open the door should anyone stop by.  I couldn't even just run and hide the dirty dishes in the bedroom.  It's that bad. 

It is 10:45 on Thursday evening and I'm about to go to bed, which isn't really anything new.  In fact, I think I may be up later than usual.  But, I'm really, really tired.  And, really, really whiny.  Things could be way worse, I know.  We are blessed in so many ways.  But, I just want to really sleep in.  Like, a go to bed whenever I want and not get up until noon sort of sleep in.  And, I want to do it because I can, not because I'm sick.

I'm about to depart to Brown Summit, NC to attend National Camp School.  A few months back, I wrote about how I'm going to be the director for the Cub Scout District Day Camp this year.  This is the training I have to take in order to be certified to take on this enormous task.  I feel like it is the day before the first day of high school.  Or, the day before I left for Woodbadge.  But, worse because I won't know anybody AT ALL.  

My friend Jannine pointed out tonight that Camp School is actually better than either of those other two experiences.  Why?  Because you don't have to do homework.  Um, yeah....  I think she's wrong.  My homework is going to be coming home and putting together a stellar camp for a hundred or so Cub Scouts.  That's all.  No biggie.

So, there's my monthly whine.  Sorry it had to land on a feature day.  Take a gander at my other posts.  You may find that you like them better.  Or not... you know, whatever...

A campin' we will go

A campin' we will go

Hi-ho-the-derry-oh

A campin' we will go

your wife looks like misery

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This is where I spent my weekend, camping on a farm.  It was cold, but it was beautiful. 

 

It was a great Scouting weekend.  Lots of food, lots of fun, lots of laughter.  A water balloon catapult (in near freezing temperatures!), a course in fire starting, and another in orienteering, all held around a much-needed campfire in the company of friendly Scouts and Scouters.  But, oh my gosh, it was cold.

Scoutmaster K prepared a delicious pot of Texas Ranger Stew for dinner.  He threw in hamburger, tomatoes, corn, rice, onions, and some other stuff.  Heated it all up and served it with bread.  This stuff really hit the spot as the sun was going down.  We sat around the fire, ate, talked, and joked with one another.  But, soon it was time to go to bed.

Here's a quick word of advice:  Always look up before you pitch your tent.  Having neglected to examine the trees surrounding my chosen spot, I place our tent underneath a nearly-dead pine tree.  When the wind picked up after the sun went down, and Mr. Hull and I were tucked into our sleeping bags trying to snooze, the tree began to creak.  I spent most of the night praying that the tree would not fall on us or those in the surrounding tents.  According to my husband, pine branches fall like spears and are often called "widow-makers."  Lesson learned.  Always look up.

I can also tell you, with much accuracy, that coyotes have definitely claimed the area in which we live.  Sometime after Mr. Hull woke with a startled shout around 1 AM (he was so cold he thought he had died and gone to hell), I heard the yips, yaps, and yells begin.  The trio of farm dogs charged across the cow pasture towards the sound of the incoming intruders.  After a bit, things settled down and I was
finally able to sleep.

The next morning dawned after many hours of restless tossing and turning.  Upon seeing my morning face, an old friend told my husband that I looked like "pure misery."  Wow, thanks!  Truth be told, I had an enjoyable weekend.  And, I know that the boys that we were with absolutely did.  This was the first camping trip for some.  To know that I have had a hand in giving some young Scouts a memorable experience that will help them continue along the Scouting Trail and further enable these boys to grow into men of character makes the cold, the fear, and the coyotes all worth it.

Would I do it again?  Absolutely.  Next November?  Nah... I think I'll advocate for June!

i married tim taylor

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I married the tool man.  Really, I did.  You know, the build-it-bigger, disaster-prone, grunting, snorting, car-loving, tool-wielding, master of home improvement.  I must say, it makes life interesting.  Besides, now I can more aptly identify with Jill when I watch Home Improvement reruns late at night.  I think my husband should start his own home improvement blog.  Readers would find it hilarious, but only if he included all his random mishaps.  Since he won't, I thought I'd share some here.

It seems like every time we have a home improvement project going on, Mr. Hull either gets injured, breaks something, or both.  Every project becomes more elaborate than planned.  Nothing is easy.  Nothing is quick.  Everything requires at least two trips to the hardware store.  at least. 

Now, I must say, that Mr. Hull doesn't get in silly competitions with the neighbors over Christmas lights and the such, though I would love for him to hang some lights one year.  Rather, he has two issues:  He is a disaster-prone perfectionist. 

Mr. Hull plans and plans before he ever starts a project.  He approaches everything that he does well-educated and level-headed.  He researched storage sheds for no less than two weeks before he ever broke ground to build one.  He doesn't go about things willy-nilly and he strives to do everything just right.  For example, with this shed he's currently building, he used 6x6 pieces of wood for the floor frame and 2x6s for the support joists.  Last night, he revealed to me that the project instructions only called for 4x4s and 2x4s.   Overkill?  maybe.  Again, where someone else might just level off the ground and plop down their metal building, using some gravel to keep things drained and dry, Mr. Hull took a whole day and a half to properly build a deck foundation.  He either does it all the way, or not at all.  Build it bigger, build it better, build it to last.  He's a good man.

The problem comes when disaster strikes.  I can't tell you how many cuts, blisters, scrapes, bruises, and more Mr. Hull has gotten in the last two weeks alone.  Yesterday, he came into the house holding his hand above his head.  He had sawed into his finger instead of the wood.  Luckily, it was a minor cut compared to what it could have been.  Last week, he bloodied his hands while digging the mortar out from between the tiles in our new bathroom.  When he went to work a few days later, his boss asked if he had a stigmata.  This is in addition to the second degree burns he got while cooking steak a few days prior to that.  The poor man's hands are beaten all to hell.

But, Mr. Hull doesn't just beat himself up.  Check this out:

• On a camping trip this summer, Mr. Hull walked down to the water faucet to fill our jugs.  He turned the knob and it felt a little loose.  He turned it a little more and the whole thing came off in his hand.  A 100 ft. geyser shot up from the spigot.  The camp host and park ranger had to scramble to find the water shut off in a dark field.  It took a couple of hours and the field was flooded.  
• Our bathroom faucet started dripping a little last spring.  Mr. Hull thought he would fix it.  In the process, he stripped something or the other and we wound up with a new faucet.
• During clean-up from our mini-flood that I caused, our other toilet developed a leak.  Mr. Hull spent the whole day working on it, and we wound up with a new tank at day's end.
• While reinstalling our bathroom light fixture, I hear Mr. Hull cry "Oh Shit!"  I reply, "Did you shock yourself?"  He answers, "Maybe... possibly."  It turns out, his father had told him that he merely had to turn the light switch off before playing with electricity.
• Years ago, he smacked himself in the mouth while assembling a China-made computer desk, and nearly knocked out his teeth.

The thing is, though, like Tim, Mr. Hull's heart is in the right place.  He tries so hard to repair things around our house and, eventually, succeeds every time.  One can only learn by doing, and Mr. Hull does a lot.  He may get injured, it may take lots of time, but we always come out on the better side of things.  We've only had to call someone in to clean up a mess once, and that was mine.  So, I guess I'm fortunate.  From what I hear, other men don't do anything at all.

What I Did At Summer Camp

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1. Walked a goat.  A real one.  Not my husband.

2. Cracked a geode.  Again, a real one. 
As opposed to a geo code*

3. Got wet.  Really wet.

4. Touched a snake.  Believe me, this was big.

(source)

5. Slept on a metal cot with no pillow in a tent with flaps that didn't tie
all by myself while a real, live, pink-speckled bear wandered
through the campsite. I'll tell you more about the bear later.

(not my picture, I found it somewhere on the internets,
but can't remember where, and doctored it up a bit.)

*what's a geo code?

Determination

This picture was taken by a wonderful photographer, L. Thomas Bryan. 

Let 'em go... let 'em grow

These pictures were taken at a Webelos Resident Camp that my son and I recently attended.  (No, they are not of my son.) They demonstrate a trend that is manifesting itself in the lives of parents across the country.  Parents are afraid to just let go.  They are afraid to let their children fail.  In the pictures above, Jeremy (not his real name) has been given the opportunity to scale to the top of a climbing tower.  Prior to this, several Scouts had successfully made it to the top.  Then, it was Jeremy's turn.  At first try, he was unable to get his foot on the first peg to propel himself up the wall.  After floundering for a bit, his stepmother jumped in to help.  She tried lifting him, she tried giving him a leg up, she tried everything she could to get the boy to climb the wall.  Sadly, nothing helped.  In the second picture, notice that Jeremy is just hanging there.  His stepmother has stepped away.  Rather than lift him up, as some of the leaders requested, the climbing instructor is letting him hang.  Jeremy is far enough off the ground so that, if he really wanted to, he could get a firm grip and begin to climb.  But, the instructor won't do the work for him.

That's how it should be.  If, as parents, we continually do the hard stuff for our children, how will they ever learn?  How will they grow stronger in their abilities, and more certain in their strengths?  We can't hold their hands forever.  We have to let them either climb or fail.  If not, they will never go anywhere.  So, stop the helicoptering.  Stop giving "one more" leg up.   Stop pushing so hard.  The failures of our children do not belong to us.  Let them flounder a little.  They deserve to grow.

Steppin' Out

Last spring (as in, the spring of '09, as opposed to the spring of '10, which would be this past spring), I had the opportunity to attend Wood Badge, a leadership training course for Boy Scout leaders.  The catch: my husband had already gone, so I would be on my own.  In the deep, dark woods.  Without my family.  yeah.

Also, I would be leaving my 6-month old nursing daughter behind with her father.  I would be the first nursing mother to attend the course.  I would have to have special allowances to pump.  I would need a private room.  The course was scheduled to take place over two weekends, each a month apart.  So many reasons not to go.

I verbally committed, then backed out.  I just couldn't go.  It wasn't my thing.  So, sorry.  I reconsidered.  It was a great opportunity.  Something for me.  I would have a blast.  I really should go.  So, I signed up.  Again, I started to have second thoughts.  In fact, I was even questioning myself as I drove away that first morning.

When I arrived at Camp Powhatan, I was greeted by smiling faces.  Though I was thrown into a group with five other people I'd never met, they were friendly and understanding (for the most part).  We quickly learned that we would be called the Antelope Patrol (snort, snort, snort) We learned, laughed, and played together.  We bonded over plates of camp food and games of skill.  We became accustomed to working together as a unit.  It was a wonderful experience and I looked forward to the second weekend, during which we would be camping out.

There were no second thoughts in regards to returning, though I had never carried my supplies in a pack, while being led on what was touted as a "three mile hike." (Wood Badge miles, you see...)  I had never camped without my husband and family.  While I knew how to pitch a tent, cook over the fire, and generally take care of myself while camping, I had always had my husband to rely on.  He was there to scare away any wild animals and turn out the lantern after I went to bed.

The first night went fairly well, but the second night was a challenge.  Sometime in the middle of the night, I was awakened by a huge clap of thunder.  The woods outside my tent lit up.  Rain came pouring down.  The ground shook with thunder and the sky was alight with lightning.  I scrunched down in my sleeping bag, clutching my mini maglite (smart choice, holding a metal flashlight in a thunderstorm), and praying that we would make it through to morning. We had no other shelter at our immediate disposal.  We had nowhere to go.  The only choice was to stay put and ride it out. 

As the storm subsided and I slowly drifted back to sleep, I couldn't help being a bit proud of myself for weathering the elements on my own.  Though my patrol-mates were in tents just feet away, they were all inaccessible for the duration of the night.  I had camped on my own, in a thunderstorm, and survived.

This post was inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop, prompt #3, Steppin Outside the Box.

Good Ol' Ottari

I love going down to the Blue Ridge Mountains Council Scout Reservation, especially visiting Camp Ottari.  Though I've only been a couple of times, the campground holds some very special memories for me.  We camped there when I was so pregnant I was about to pop (quite literally, only 4 weeks before Kate was born).  It was also where we took Katie camping for the first time, when she was 6 months old, in April 08.  We had a really great time with good friends and I can't wait until we can do it again. 



This post was inspired by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop.  The prompt was to share some stories and photos about what you love about spring.