For the last few years I've worked as a camp counselor at a girls camp for the church I attend. As a camper, I love living outside (for any amount of time I can) and incidentally, I'm still waiting for Mountain Man to whisk me back up to the Flathead where we can live out our days in a yurt on the side of the lake.
On the other hand, girls camp is a different sort of wonder. There's a lot of girls. And well, they're girls. Not to say that this is bad, but there's usually a lot of crying, screaming, and menstruating (sorry, it's the elephant in the campground and the reason for all the screaming and crying.)
In short, there's a lot of drama.
I've heard other camp leaders exclaim it to be their best week of the year--and it's great--don't get me wrong--(I won't use the word "but" here because that negates everything you just said before you said the word "but", so I'll say) AND preparing for girls camp is just a big pain.
It's like preparing for a vacation where you know that the only thing you will come home with is fatigue and quite possibly Lyme disease--actually, if you substitute the words "Lyme disease" for "amoebic dysentery", it's not unlike vacationing in Mexico.
There are the forced preparations of sewing a flag to represent our congregation (no thanks friends, I will not bow down to the convention of my culture and sew--unless it's a pillow so I can rest my weary head) preparing secret sister gifts (money spent on trinkets that could have purchased a small car, a pound of gold bullion, or several sheep for villagers living in the Sudan.)
And then there's the packing.
Squeezing fourteen girls (and all their worldly possessions) into a mini van...wait, I don't drive one of those either, so let's say, Mini Coop, is like trying to squeeze, well, fourteen girls into a mini-coop. When we arrive we all tumble out like clowns from a VW.
On the other hand, camping with all these hormonal, pubescent crying girls makes me appreciate the wise daughter who came through me but is certainly a woman all her own already. I'm forbidden to discuss her except in the loosest of terms, so that brief description must suffice. And then there's the inevitable vocabulary expansion that happens up at camp.
After camp last year, it took me no less than two weeks to break myself of the habit of saying the word, "Epic" after every mundane pronouncement.
And friends, if you don't know me all that well, you may not know that I despise that word with all the feeling of my soul.
The only things that are epic are sex (if you're lucky) and the movie Ben Hurr--and that's only because Moses starred in it, and was hot. Seriously, Charleton Heston=babe.
There's also the fact that Mountain Man will usually drive up so we can make out in the woods for a few minutes in between camp activities.
What? Don't judge.
And if you are, then you're just wishing your own mountain man would drive an hour to make out with you after a long day's work. Seriously, Mountain Man=babe and great kisser.
There's also the opportunity to spend time with some wonderful women who share their love of life, joy of peace and kindness with all they meet...and (besides making out in the woods) that's my favorite part.
So, in spite of the sewing, the month of packing, and the Lyme disease (which are all epic, by the way) girl's camp equals four days of love, laughter, deet poisoning and snogging in the bushes.
I'm looking forward to it.
See you next week.