Girl's Camp

There's nothing like spending a good solid forty hours with a group of hyper teenagers, made possible by the annual responsibility of attending girls camp.

This year I got to drive.  On the way there, the girls in my car decided they would play a fascinating and imaginative game called "Cow".  The rules are complicated: every time you see a cow, you shout "COW!"

So as we traveled through farm land for two hours, I heard:
"COW!!!COW!!!COW!!!COW!!!COW!!!COW!!!COW!!!COW!!!COW!!!COW!!!COW!!!COW!!!"

It was awesome.

At one point, someone tried to change things up a bit by shouting, "HORSE!!!"  This only made the cow-shouting people super mad and they re-explained the rules.

When we finally arrived (after about 2,789,005 cow sitings), we got out to stretch our legs while our camp leader checked us into a KOA.  When we'd stretched and taken our potty breaks and she still hadn't come out, we went in after her.

We found her in the middle of the KOA camp store shopping for clothes.  I mean, who wouldn't?  She ended up buying two shirts.  I decided to look around while she shopped and ended up buying a ladybug rubber ball.  Why not, right?

When we finally got done shopping, we set up camp totally undeterred by the fact that the field contained more thistles than grass.  And then we unseasoned campers decided to leave the flies off the scout tents so that they could stay cool.

Bad idea.

It rained.

One of the leaders ran back from the swimming pool to, as she put it, "put up the scout flies".   This wording brought giggles.  Because at girls camp you giggle at that kind of thing.

On the second day of camp we went tubing.  We didn't bring a trailer so the gigantic four-person tubes were balanced on top of our cars.  And let's just pretend we didn't have girls hanging out of windows here and there to hold the tubes on.

When we got to the head of the river, we had two choices: we could go to the right and avoid the scary waterfall which had injured members of the girls camp before us, or we could go to the left and take the plunge of death.  I went with the YWs president who, of course, chose the plunge of death. She made it sound enticing by saying, "I love death!!" and then cackling wickedly.

We survived.

And continued to survive every time she made us go over it.  But when the girls tried to follow us a few of them got cut up and bloodied.  Just a few, mind you.

At the end of the camp I drove home with the same group of girls.

They thought of a new game.

It wasn't much better.

Instead of hearing shouts of "cow" I heard loud slapping followed by insane giggling.

The Beehive who thought of this game was incredibly proud of herself:

  "Jenny, do you know what we're playing?"

"Well I hear a lot of slapping."

"Yes!  We're slapping each other."

"Great."

"But do you know the rules?"

"I can't say that I do."

"We slap each other every time a semi passes.  Isn't that awesome?"

Yes, it sure was.


And that was girls camp.  (Only that you probably can't tell from my descriptions that every bit of it was a total blast.)