Chances and Changes: My Journey with Molly

Since I feel happy and at home in the woods, I choose the hike. Molly and Linda are both thrilled. Molly says that I have everything that I need, but Linda and Molly need to go back to get their own gear. I pick up the rucksack and follow them. Linda says she can’t wait to see the secret pond. Molly agrees, especially since All Wet Day is not going to be Molly’s finest hour. Swimming and diving aren’t Molly’s favorite things. She gets the same worried look in her eye as when her dad was here.

We run up a hill to Tent Ten, which is built on a wooden platform with a wide step. While Molly and Linda hurry inside to collect their camping gear, I sit on the step and catch my breath. I wonder what Bea is doing right now. I feel bad that I made her sad and worried.

Molly and Linda come out with their gear, which looks just like the stuff I got from the Lost and Found. The sleeping bags are scratchy woolen bedrolls tied with leather belts. Molly shows me how to attach it to my rucksack and she helps me hoist the bundle on my back. It’s heavy.

We head back down the hill and across the camp, stopping at the Dining Hall to fill our canteens. Then, we go to meet the rest of the group that has chosen to go on the hike. Barbara and Judy are our counselors, and five other campers: Patty, Kathy, Marie, Shirley, and Dorinda. I guess they were all at camp last year and I’m the only new camper.

Molly says I shouldn’t worry about being new. None of us have been on the overnight hike. Before we leave, Judy reminds us to stick together. We shouldn’t be going off on our own. I point out that’s exactly what Molly’s dad said. Molly nods. That’s an army rule. Soldiers look out from one another, too. Barbara holds up a walkie-talkie and says she can communicate back and forth with camp in an emergency. But we will all be fine.

And with that, we are off.

We hike on a single-file, narrow trail road. I’m surprised to hear the campers singing. “Great green gobs of greasy, grimy gopher guts.” I have to laugh. Bea and I sing that when we have a messy chore to get through. Now, I’m in 1945, singing the same song. Mr. Salvo is always saying that music is a language that’s timeless. He must be right. We all sing loudly as we hike along, our mess kits clanking against our canteens, our bedrolls bouncing on our backs.

When we come to a burbling stream, Barbara shows us stepping stones to cross. Everyone starts to follow her, but daredevil Marie asks if she can cross on a log instead. Barbara and Judy nod and they let Marie go ahead. She shrieks and squeaks every step of the way until she gets the muddy bank on the other side. Molly and Linda hold their arms out from their sides for balance and cross on the log, too, and I make my way behind them. When we all get to the other side, Linda and Molly lean down to pull me up. But as we climb up, we take a tumble and land in a tangled pile. Dorinda says that might be poison ivy we’ve landed in. Molly shakes her head. Poison ivy has three leaves. This isn’t poison ivy.

I agree with Molly. It’s myrtle. It grows near wild streams. Molly proudly says that I know all about the wilderness, since I live in a forest preserve. Marie says that that’s really cool. I nod and take a deep breath. The scents of pine sap, moss, and sun-warmed earth remind me of home. Bea is right. I would miss home if I went to music camp.