I Wish Someone Had Told Me

I wish someone had told me the roof leaked. I never thought to ask, and of course, the sellers never volunteered the information.

I bought the tent at a yard sale out in San Jose, packed it into the trunk of my car two weeks later, and headed up to Sequoia National Park. My brother, who lives in Sacramento, was supposed to meet me there. But I was halfway up the mountain when the cell phone rang. Chris told me how he'd just come down with the flu.

I didn’t know what to do. The smart thing was to turn around and head back home, but do you know how many miles I’d already driven that day? No way was I about to give up such a trip. Besides, I’d bought the tent and all, and I had marshmallows in the backseat. Marshmallows, graham crackers, and chocolate bars, and if you don’t know what that makes, you aren’t much of a camper!

There was no place to turn around going up the mountain. I got all the way to the ranger’s station before I had any opportunity. Then I had to pay to park because I needed to use the john, and well, the ranger told me that a “pretty, little lady” like me shouldn’t camp by myself. That was all it took. I was committed. I tossed my long, cinnamon-brown hair back over my shoulder, plunked down my money, and hightailed it to my car so I could drive to the campsite.

I got lost three times before I found it. Then, when I got there, I checked and rechecked the numbers. A whole troop of Boy Scouts was pitching their tent at the site next to mine. There were sixteen little kiddos. I counted them. Do you hear me? Sixteen little boys!

I sat in the car for a moment and then turned it around and headed back to the ranger’s office. Thankfully the jerk from before was gone, but the news was bad. All other campsites were taken. I was lucky I even had one, the chubby guy with the pimples and the wad of gum in his mouth told me.

The man in line behind me heard the problem. “Hey, we’ll take that site, young lady," he said.

“Now, Clarence, I'd rather go back to that motel I saw. Please?” said the wrinkle-faced platinum blonde standing next to him.

“Sugar.” The elderly man in the oversized Hawaiian shirt and pair of orange shorts that didn’t quite cover his two bony, yet baggy knees tried to talk her into it. “This little girl doesn’t want her campsite, sweetie. We could rent a tent and . . .”

Little? If I’d been a bull in a bullring, I would have pawed the ground. The man had waved a red flag in front of me.

“Sorry, Mister,” I said. “I’m not giving up my campsite. I’ve decided to keep it.”

The ranger popped his wad of gum, nodded, and handed me another pamphlet with the park’s rules.

“I’ve got one in my car,” I told him, pushing the info sheet back.

“Well, would you listen to that?” the blonde said. “I can’t understand women today. What does she think she’s doing? Spending the night all by herself? Why, she’s asking for trouble. Doesn’t she know there are bears and raccoons and . . . "

The man walked his wife out the door so fast I never heard what else I needed to worry about. What could be worse than bears?

It was just after four in the afternoon, but the sky was darkening. It looked like rain. My first camping trip. Wouldn’t you know it?

I made my way back to the campsite. Then I dragged out my tent and started reading the direction book that had come with it. Page two was missing.

“Shoot,” I said, thumbing frantically, but finding that all the other pages were in four different languages.

“Need help?”

I turned to look. Two kids about nine were staring at me.

“Ahhhhhh,” I said, pondering the situation.

“It’s easy. We know how to do it, ma’am,” said the little boy with freckles.

A scout leader came up behind them. My mouth dropped open. I stared.

“Don’t bother her, boys. Get back to your own area,” the incredibly gorgeous man said.

“No, really, it’s all right,” I assured him. “Please. Your boys were just offering to help. I’d . . I’d . . . I’d love some help.”

“Really?” The man grinned and introduced himself as Paul. (Did I mention he looked exactly like Rhett Butler in the movie version of Gone with the Wind?) Paul drew out a whistle. When he blew into it, a herd of Boy Scouts came running over. I stepped back, tripped over a pole, and almost went over backward, falling over my tent.

I won’t go into details. Let’s just say that the tent was up before I'd stopped blushing.

“Good job, boys. How about a fire, ma’am? Do you want them to start one up for you?” Paul asked.

I soon had my own campfire, which was kind of a waste since I ended up sitting at the Boy Scouts' fire, eating hamburgers and listening to ghost stories.

As the evening continued, Paul and I found out we had lots in common. We’d just made a date to get together in a few days when the sky lit up, cracked its whip, and turned on a deluge. Everyone ran in six different directions –- all of us heading back to our tents.

Slightly wet, but smiling, I unzipped my bag, crawled into my new sleeping bag and . . . suddenly screamed when a bucketful of ice water landed in my lap.

Paul and the others came running. Although I didn't say so, at first I thought the kids had played a mean trick on me, but it wasn’t anything of the sort. My tent leaked -- big time.

Fortunately, Scouts are always prepared –- or so they told me. They shifted, doubled up, and gave me one of their little tents. So, in spite of my run of bad luck, I actually did spend the night camping out.

In the morning, while sipping from a big mug of coffee that Paul made for both of us, I became an honorary Boy Scout. The kids had even made a certificate for me, which they presented with giggles, bows, and heart-stealing smiles.

I brought out the goodies I'd brought, and we all celebrated with mouthwatering S'mores.



xxx