“Don’t tell me,” he asked, “they picked you to start the fire?”
Before I could respond, I heard Zelda before I saw her. I turned as she said to Tara, “This is perfect—our team’s gonna win. My mom doesn’t know how to make a fire.”
I was done doubting myself. I would no longer allow Ronnie, my kids, Mike, Jack, or anyone else to make me feel incompetent.
Slowly the bleachers surrounding the campfire pit filled up. My radio screeched—it was Bethany letting us know that the runners were on their way.
Zoe from the Green team made it through the clearing first. We ran toward each other so she could tag me. Matches in hand, I dropped to my knees, lighting the torch I’d fashionedout of newspaper and a branch. I touched it to the kindling I had bundled into four neat piles surrounding the logs. There was a slight breeze working in my favor, and it blew sparks onto the propped-up branches that I’d formed in a teepee over the logs. The brittle twigs caught fire quickly. I placed my torch directly on the wood at the base, ensuring that the fire would ignite the logs and keep the branches above burning.
Thanks toTheBoy Scout Handbook, I had successfully built a fire that blazed brightly and burned the rope as the last runners came into sight.
The heat from my fire warmed me from the inside out, and the crackling sound was pure music. I’d never felt more accomplished.
“You may have the qualities of a camper after all,” Mike said.
Bethany lifted my hand above my head and announced, “The Green team wins.”
I felt incredibly proud. Zelda was at my side and said, “I’ll have to tell Dad you learned how to make a fire, but why did you have to do it for the other team?”
The next day after breakfast, Girls Camp met up by the campfire area for the Burying of the Hatchet ceremony. I shouldn’t have been surprised to see Mike standing next to a small hole, one hand leaning on a shovel. He wore tight jean shorts and a white collared shirt, and for once, not an ounce of unnecessary skin was showing. I couldn’t make out what he was holding. When I got closer, I saw it was an actual ax.
“They’re literally going to bury a hatchet?”
“I’m here to make sure no one hurts themselves, and I wouldn’t expect one of you prissy DLs to dig the hole.”
“So, they sent a big strong man to do it.”
He stood straight and saluted me. “At your service.”
The hatchet was painted white on one side and green on the other, and it would be buried green side up because the Green team had won.
The captains faced each other as the rest of the camp watched from the benches. They hugged, and Bethany asked them to kneel while she gingerly handed them the hatchet, which they placed in the ground. They each took a pile of dirt in their hands and tossed it over the ax.
Bethany led the group in singing the original Color War songs written by the Swans. They all knew the words—it didn’t matter which team you were on. When they finished, Bethany led everyone in a song that I’d never heard.
She started singing, “Twenty plus years at Woodlands,” while looking at Mindy.
Then Mindy sang, accompanied by Bethany, “Friendships and memories in a circle of sisterhood that never ends. Come join me, those who have been here for ten years.” There were no takers. “Nine?” Finally, Genie popped up for seven years, and she belted out the song and invited all the Swans who had been at camp for six years to join in. By year three, most of the campers swayed arm-in-arm, and then the rest of us joined in.
The singing continued until everyone held hands in a friendship circle. I was holding hands with Maggie and Abby. If someone had described the scene taking place, I would’ve thought,How corny. But being part of a living, breathing friendship circle was poignant and inspiring. Watching Zelda and Hazel, I laughed and cried simultaneously.
I had thought that unpacking the trunks was hard, but I was wrong—repacking them was worse. The campers weren’t allowedto help and were all outside playing and exchanging email addresses and phone numbers.
Amber called me over. “Lori, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault,” she said.
“Why, what’s wrong?”
I followed her over to Chloe’s cubby where Genie was standing. Next to Chloe’s bunk was the floral roller bag she had brought with her on the bus.
Genie said, “Hold your nose.” And she unzipped the bag.
The acrid ammonia stench of fifty-six days of urine filled pull-ups permeated the cabin. It was far worse than any underground subway passage I’d ever walked through. Coughing, I covered my eyes as they began to water.
“Quick, close that. Chloe’s mom had told me she was a bed wetter, and I had asked her to send along extra sheets and underwear. She must’ve also packed pull-ups.” The troubled look on the faces of my most responsible hard-working counselors made me laugh.
“You think this is funny?” Amber asked.
I was laughing so hard, I had to sit down. “We were outsmarted by an eight-year-old.”
