| Written by Jane BUCHHOLZ | |
| Wednesday, 27 January 2010 | |
| March Articles>>>  Jane Buchholz Gallagher shares with us, stories about growing up in Terre Haute and just being a Hoosier. She and her husband, Larry Gallagher, also class of ‘67’ now live in Crawfordsville, IN. Larry came to Garfield from Otter Creek and Jane went to McLean. They dated through graduation and were married in 1968. They have one son, Kevin who is married and lives near them. Larry works for the “Paper of Montgomery County” and Jane is a recently retired grade school teacher. |
Have you ever been to camp? There are so many more camps available for kids today than there were when I was a camper. The opportunities abound; sports camps of all kinds, space camp, church camp, 4-H camp, computer camp, horse camp, scout camps, day camps for kids with working parents, you name the activity and there is probably a place to register one’s child. Camps were not so prevalent when my friends and I were growing up. Scout camps and church camps were pretty much the only overnight experiences available to those in my neighborhood.
My first camp experience was Brownie Day Camp the summer after my second grade year. My sister or my mother would walk long with me the three blocks to Collett Park early in the morning. There I would meet up with the thirty other little girls dressed in their summer shorts and brown and white horizontally striped shirts. We would pin our sack lunches on a clothesline with a clothespin and pay our dime for the orange soda that would accompany our lunch. We’d sing Brownie songs, make a craft, and play “Upset the Fruitbasket”. Then we’d have our sack lunch, have a story, sitting upon our “sit-up-on” which we made of folded newspaper during crafts, play more games, have s’mores, then we’d meet our mothers for the walk home. Each day of the week was pretty much the same, but we loved it.
A few years later it was time to go to overnight Girl Scout camp at Camp Na-Wa-Kwa in Poland, Indiana. I packed up my foot locker, my dad helped me make up my bedroll, consisting of my pillow, two of his old Navy blankets, and a sheet, rolled up and secured with a rope, and I was ready to go. It was my first time to be away from home and was I homesick! I sent letters to my family everyday, even though I was going to beat them home. To make matters worse, my cat had a kitten while I was away. Even through all of this what I believed to be true adversity, I still managed to have a good time. My group slept in tents and we were named the Pirates. Our two college-aged counselors were called Bunny and Shorty, and as hard as we tried they would not reveal their true identities to us. We met at the lodge with the other campers for meals and had friendly singing competitions. We had a little time each day to shop at the camp store for Girl Scout or camp-related items. We shared duties such as latrine, meal hoppers, and fire keepers. We took hikes along a stream, swam in the icy cold lake, and my favorite part was singing around the campfire in the evenings. We sang Na-Wa Kwa’s theme song that ended with our chanting of Na-Wa-Kwa, Oomp Pa Pa, over and over, “Mr. Moon”, and our group’s song “We’re Pirates of Camp Na-Wa-Kwa, Ya Ho, Ya Ho.” Then the counselor’s would tell us scary urban legends and then we’d go off to our tents, listening to every crack in the forest, just knowing that Hook Man was out there waiting to get us. By the time pick-up day arrived, I was totally involved and was ready to stay another week.
I didn’t go to camp again until I was an adult nearing middle age. A friend convinced me to be a counselor at a wilderness church camp located in Brown County. I finally agreed, packed up my sleeping bag, citronella candle, and the bug spray, and headed south. Our camp was designed to have small family encampments with a tent of boys with a male counselor and a tent of girl’s with a female counselor. The ages ranged from fifth through eighth graders. We had to work together, have a Bible study time, cook our own meals over a fire, and meet with the other campers at an assigned time. I had looked at this whole adventure as a time to commune with nature, maybe squeeze in a good book, and a nap or two. I had forgotten a few things. I would be dealing with twelve pubescent teens with raging hormones, and there are critters in them there woods. The younger kids were eager to work and help. Their elders wanted to be waited on hand and foot, and were on their own agendas. I was cranky because some forlorn whippoorwill sang every night that we were there, making sleep impossible. The portable toilet was a half-mile walk in the dark of night, and the shower was a mile hike down a steep hill, which doesn’t sound bad until you factor in the uphill return trip after which another shower was needed. Despite the humidity, rain, and questionable food, friendships were made and we all got a good taste of what it would be like to live in substandard conditions, giving a life’s lesson in itself. I returned home, grateful to be back, thinking I would never do that again! I actually did return a few years later after the stark reality had worn off and only the romantic memory of being outdoors remained. After being there only one morning did I remember why I had vowed not to repeat my experience. After spending another week with Mr. Whippoorwill and the thousands of spiders that had invaded our tent, I returned at the end of the week covered with bites and knowing positively that wilderness camping was not my cup of tea. I admire those staunch counselors that make these experiences available for the kids. From now on when I get that feeling of wanting to spend time in the great outdoors, I think I’ll just go out on my screened porch and light a citronella candle.
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