As
a child in the 1960s, I loved being a Girl Scout. Every week I was proud to put
on that uniform and walk down Gillis Road to the little green Scout building on
Afton Parkway.
 |
The Woman's Club building AND Scout cabin
are now gone - made way for progress and new houses |
One
of the best parts of Girl Scouts was going to summer day camp. I used to have
to bug my mother to get me registered. Invariably on the first day of camp when
we gathered at the flag pole for our day troop assignments, I was always one of
maybe three girls whose names were not called (I guess their mothers were procrastinators,
too), so we had to be assigned after all the others skipped happily off to
their campsites. After the initial embarrassment of having to find my group, I
was the perfect happy camper.
Day
camp was like a different world for me. I was doing things my parents didn’t do
with me. I was learning things most of my friends were not learning. It was
adventure. It was independence.
Here
is what I liked about summer camp:
- Preparing
for camp and making my own sit-upon by weaving folded sheets of newspaper into
a not-so-comfy square mat covered in oil cloth
 |
NOT mine - These are my daughters' sit-upons
from when they were in Girl Scouts |
- Taking
part in the flag ceremony and it didn’t matter whether I got to raise and lower
the flag or serve as an honor guard
- Reading
the daily duty list to see whether my group was in charge of cleaning latrines,
clearing weeds from the walk paths using a little hatchet (yes! A hatchet!), setting up for lunch, or cooking
- Hearing
the bell ring when the milk truck arrived delivering little cartons of milk to
all the campers
- Doing
wood crafts and art projects around a big picnic table with other campers
- Learning
to identify trees – I still amaze people with my ability to tell the difference
between red and white oaks, and to know a Sassafras tree by its three different-shaped
leaves
- Cooking
on an open fire once a week – usually Hunter’s Stew
- Making
our own stove out of a #10 can and a tuna can with rolled corrugated paper and
paraffin wax, called a Buddy Burner
- Learning
First Aid, in particular how to make a tourniquet and a sling for a broken arm
- Learning
to load a bow and shoot an arrow
- Singing
Taps in a Friendship Circle at the end of the day before boarding the bus to go
home
Part
of the fun was just getting there. Brownies and Girl Scouts ages 6-12 rode
together on a bus. An older Girl Scout was in charge and she always led us in
fun songs like “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt,” “The Bear Went Over the
Mountain,” and “Make New Friends.”
We
sang lots of songs because the ride to camp was a long one. We wound through my
neighborhood Cradock, and then out to other parts of Portsmouth – West Cradock,
Highland Biltmore, Simonsdale, Park Manor, and other places I have since
forgotten. At the time, I probably had no clue what the neighborhoods were.
They just seemed so far away. It must have taken well over an hour to pick up everyone
and then head out across the Hodges Ferry Bridge.
 |
The former Hodges Ferry Bridge
from bridgehunter.com |
The
Hodges Ferry Bridge was definitely at the edge of the world for me. My family
never had a need to go that way. There was nothing but farm land, woods, and
wide-open fields.
And
Camp Sherwood Forest.
Far
from home in the middle of nowhere.
Or
so I thought.
It
was my last day of camp EVER because I was aging out of day camp opportunities
unless I wanted to be the older girl monitoring young campers on the bus.
Parents were invited to a program where the day campers displayed their crafts,
performed dances, sang camp songs, and led the singing of Taps in the closing
ceremony. Instead of riding the bus home, I hopped into the car with my
parents.
I
was surprised when my dad turned left out of the long gravel path instead of
right as the bus driver always did. In a few minutes time, we were on High
Street in Portsmouth. There was Churchland High School! There was the Churchland
Bridge! All very familiar and just minutes
from my home. Camp Sherwood Forest was NOT in the middle of nowhere. Indeed, it
was much closer to home than I thought if you go THIS way instead of THAT way.
What
a disappointment. It was akin to learning the truth about the Tooth Fairy and Easter
Bunny.
Flash
forward 50 years. Where I live today is part of the former farm land, woods,
and wide-open fields that once defined “the edge of the world” beyond Hodges
Ferry Bridge.
 |
Just a small part of Western Branch community in Chesapeake, VA
My house is marked by the blue circle, upper far right.
Camp Sherwood Forest WAS in the upper left part of the picture. |
Neighborhoods, shopping centers, businesses, gas stations, schools,
churches, and a YMCA now fill the area that once was the middle of nowhere. In
fact, I can actually walk to the neighborhood where I learned to handle a bow and
arrow. The tell-tale power lines are still there just as they were those
summers so many years ago.
 |
The archery range was
where the power lines
stood even then. |
Of
course, now I’m wondering whose house was built over the latrines at Camp
Sherwood Forest.
Amy Johnson Crow continues to challenge genealogy
bloggers and non-bloggers alike to think about our ancestors and share a story
or photo about them. The challenge is “52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks.”
Wendy
© 2020, Wendy Mathias. All rights reserved.
