Kum-ba-ya Yourself

The Old Man went to camp once. It was called "The Cedars" and it was a church sponsored camp deep in the Virginia mountains. My grandson, Jackson, recently got back from camp. I saw the pictures.....it wasn't always like that.

The Cedars was located in dense woods somewhere around the middle of inner earth, or so it seemed. I recall Mom & Dad driving me up a gravel/dirt road for what seemed like 1000 miles. Later in life, I would see movies about nutballs in hockey masks who frequented such a place. I got that uneasy feeling a kid can get when faced with the unknown. You know the one; like 100 butterflies carrying feathers have been let loose in your innards. I was fully equipped. I had my Bible, my perfectly washed, ironed, and packed clothes, my official Camp Cedars hat, and Mom had even pre-addressed post cards to home so I would be encouraged to write often. It was like I was going off to war. "Geeez Mom, it's just a week."

The appointed time arrived and parents left....all parents. It was just us modern-day Nimrods milling about waiting to see what would happen next.

Enter The Colonel. I suppose he had some military background because he knew how to blow a whistle. We never knew his name....only The Colonel. He would blow his whistle to signal any event; morning muster, swim time, lunch, Bible study time, rest time, supper, and evening vespers. After a couple of days, we were trying to figure out how we could physically arrange for his whistle to blow when he farted. The Colonel would blow his whistle and then stand and gaze up into a tree until we had all gathered. Always the tree. We began to speculate that he was on the lookout for some of his relatives.

In the interest of making us all better citizens, we had to learn to make our own bunks in the military style. Inspection each morning was carried out while we were at breakfast. The one whose bunk was judged to be the "winner" for that day had his name posted on the door. The judge was the lone female staffer at the camp. I can't remember her name, but she was the first to confer upon me an honor that would come back to haunt me. My head got bigger when I was called up to the front of an assembly and awarded camper of the week for my consistent bunk-making skills. Of course this became the subject of one of the pre-addressed post cards. When I returned home, I often heard, "Now if you can win the bunk-making award, you can surely make your own bed up at home." Dang that unknown lady.

If you look closely you can see the "Uh-Oh" look on my face. I'd forgotten how severe "Bunk Lady" looked until I ran across this picture. I still wonder if she ever had any fun.

We stayed in cabins. Real cabins. Made of logs and reeking of creosote, mildew, and dirty socks, they provided the true "roughing it" experience. Lights out meant that if you were on the top bunk, you reached out and pulled the chain on the single hanging light bulb between each set of bunks. But it was after "lights out" (Of course...signaled by The Colonel's whistle) that things finally got interesting.

He said his name was "Blackie". He came from a much bigger city than Bedford. Somewhere up near Washington, DC. Blackie quickly perfected the art of being able to sneak out of the cabin late at night. He'd done some exploring and discovered that we were not quite as isolated as it appeared. By climbing down a cliff and heading down the road at the bottom, he could get to a little country store that had late hours. He'd load up on candy, cheeses, Nabs, and all sorts of contraband and just as adroitly, sneak back in. During free time the next day, his enterprise profited. Just the thought of someone roaming around like that in the land of "hockey mask nutballs" gives me cold chills this day and time. Then, we thought nothing of it.

I learned a lot at The Cedars. I learned to swim, to make my bed respectably, and I can still find Isaiah in a nanosecond. I still have the official Cedars hat. It's in my workshop along with my genuine aviator helmet and my official Davy Crockett coonskin cap. And when I look around out there, I think of The Colonel, and "Bunk Lady", and I wonder whatever became of Blackie.