2 July 2001

Really, really miss youngest son. He should be here at camp this year. This would be his year to lead, to be the oldest and most experienced youth. The one who clues in the newbies. They even said it would be more fun if he were here.

And I thought we had at least one more year together here. Last year shouldn't have been our last.

But no, he had all sorts of excuses. A possible trip with FBLA. Chores to do at home.

Truth be told, he was scared of being the leader and alone in his age group.

And going to camp is no longer "cool," at least in the eyes of the influential godson.

And youngest son and his brother and wife's godson wanted a week of uninterrupted internet time on Everquest.

We should have put our feet down and forced him to go. I saw that almost immediately upon arrival. Almost called the wife to bring him down (we have a paid slot available), but he would need the physical.

We really screwed up. Lost opportunities, gone forever.

Sometimes parenting hurts.

Camp staff has a guest member from South Africa. Learned how to fold the South Africa flag. Fold lengthwise, then lengthwise again, keeping the red on the outside. Then fold across the middle twice, then roll it up.

Also a staff member from Taiwan. For the Republic of China flag, you fold once lengthwise, then lengthwise again keeping the blue field on the inside. Then fold across three times.

Somebody needs to set up a website of the proper procedures for folding flags of all the nations. I would check it out.

Got a new dining room procedure this year, and it seems to work great. Rather than pitching all waste into the trash, which provided a tremendous volume of smelly trash that was highly attractive to bears (hence the "Jurassic Park" electrified exclosure around the garbage dumpsters), they asked that all garbage go into the water pitchers at the end of the meal to be run through the garbage disposal. Only paper and plastic waste go into the trash. Made a world of difference. Little aroma at the dumpsters, and they never overflowed.

Suspect the waste lagoon was a little more lush with this procedure.

Seeing that pitcher fill with wasted food really made you aware of how wasteful we can get. Don't know if we ate any more food than normal, but the boys certainly were less eager to go back for seconds.

Our second leader was the eldest (two years younger than youngest son) lad's mom. While she still hasn't gotten the hang of being a leader instead of a "Mom," it certainly helped the meal manners and conversation having a woman at the table.

Each year each group is encouraged to do a good turn for the camp. This year we volunteered to clean the youth showers, and got to them tonight, the first day of camp, before they got really rank. Pretty simple turn. Need to remember that for future trips.

And it rained this evening. In fact, it rained every day we were in camp. It was wonderful. Big, fast thunder and lightning storms. And it is so neat to see rain come straight down again, unlike the sideways stuff we get in our home state.

Sometimes my brain just has to speak up, even when it shouldn't.

After a meeting at the main office, I headed back up to camp. I decided to use the lightly traveled "Columbine Trail" through the pine woods and aspen, rather than the regular path past most of the camp buildings.

It's a narrow trail, and I soon caught up with another leader walking along with the resident "mountain man" for the camp.

This guy lives the part, essentially pretending he is still back in the 1800s, and knows not of the subsequent centuries. He's good.

But they are chatting away, going slowly as the leader is from a flatland state and is having a hard time adjusting to 8,000+ feet. No way I can pass, but they ignore me five feet behind them. Maybe I'm just too stealthy in the woods.

But anyway, they stop to identify a small tree hanging out over the trail. Mountain Man is going on about how it is probably a cherry, by the dark wood, so he guesses it is a chokecherry.

I got my university training in plant identification at a mountain campus not 25 miles from here. It's been a while, but I still know most of them.

You can easily see the horizontal stoma in the bark that immediately tells you this is a birch, almost certainly water birch (since that is the only birch in this part of the world).

So I interrupt to tell them so.

Politely.

Mountain Man is obviously skeptical, because he has "never seen a birch so dark." And clearly doesn't want his expertise questioned. Don't know what part of the continent he is from, but he is thinking of paper birch, which natives used to make canoes and paper.

But they have recognized my existence, and slowly head up the trail again, the leader asking me (not Mountain Man) about the tree. Twenty some years after I learned it, the scientific name flies up from the dusty recesses of my brain.

"Betula occidentalis"

Now Mountain Man, fully in character again, goes on about not knowing any fancy names, but he's sure it's too dark to be a birch, most probably a cherry.

Okay, at least they're moving. I stop to enjoy the columbines, and then head up again when they are out of sight.

This was not the only time this week that I felt like I was the only doctor at a medical convention, or the only lawyer in a court of law. Got hard to hold my tongue when I saw things misidentified, or environmental myths passed to another generation. Sometimes I didn't.

The rewards for volunteering for this responsibility just never seem to stop, and always seem to jump out when you least expect them.

When entering our campsite today, I met three of our boys heading out to their sessions. After a brief chat on their plans for the day, I gave them one of my standard platitudes "You guys have a good day."

One of the three turned in the trail, and very sincerely, and maturely, replied "You, too."

They grow up so fast.