I didn’t get skunked at today’s show—but let’s just say I wasn’t exactly loading up a wheelbarrow full of cash either.
The event was the first annual car show to benefit Paws for the Cause, and I’ll give it this—it had a good heart, even if it didn’t have much of a crowd. Vendors started trickling in, slowly… very slowly. In fact, I had enough time to sit and watch them arrive like it was a parade with no audience. The classic cars? Even fewer. I think I saw more empty parking spots than chrome bumpers.
Each vendor paid $30, car owners paid $20, and everyone had to bring a large bag of dog food. That part, I genuinely liked. Knowing the food would go to the Humane Society made it feel worthwhile. At the end of the day, even if I didn’t make much, at least some dogs are eating better tonight—and that’s a win you can’t really argue with.
Now, about the selling…
It took me about two hours to make my first sale. Two hours. I had time to rethink my entire inventory and briefly consider whether the guy selling kettle corn was onto something. Then… nothing. Not a single sale until the final minutes before packing up. It was like the universe said, “Let’s keep him just hopeful enough to stay.”
If you don’t count the cost of the dog food, I broke even. So technically, I didn’t lose money… but I didn’t exactly win either. I’m still chasing that one product—the one that people see and immediately say, “I need that.” So far, that magical item remains as elusive as a full parking lot at today’s show.
Looking around, though, I think I did all right compared to some of the other vendors. A few of them spent most of the day parked at a picnic table nearby. At one point, I wasn’t sure if they were selling products or just holding down the table so it wouldn’t blow away.
Speaking of blowing away… the wind showed up late but made a dramatic entrance. By the end of the day, tents were starting to lift and shift like they had somewhere better to be. I’m pretty sure that’s what convinced the organizer to shut things down about an hour early—and honestly, nobody argued.
For now, I don’t have any shows lined up, which might be a blessing in disguise. It’ll give me time to reorganize, take inventory, and figure out what needs restocking—and maybe, just maybe, stumble across that one item that actually sells consistently.
In the meantime, I’ve got a couple of orders to finish up, and that feels like progress.
No, it wasn’t a sellout. No, it wasn’t a disaster.
Just another day behind the booth… and another story to tell.
I survived the day on the river. Well… define survived.
I caught three fish—two bass and one respectable catfish. Now, before you start picturing a highlight reel, let me bring you back to reality. One bass weighed a solid 0.84 pounds… which I’m pretty sure still qualifies as “aspiring fish.” The other came in at 1.61 pounds, which officially made it the “big one” of the day.
Not exactly bragging rights, but hey—it beats going home empty-handed and lying about the one that got away.
It was a long day on the water with not much to show for it, but honestly, that wasn’t really the point. Sometimes you just need to get out there, clear your head, and enjoy the quiet… even if the fish aren’t cooperating.
Now, my back? My back has a completely different opinion about how enjoyable that day was.
This morning, it feels like I tried to wrestle a gator instead of fish for bass. I’ve been eyeballing a muscle relaxer like it’s the answer to all my problems, but if I take it, I might as well cancel the rest of the day—and I’ve got a craft fair to prep for. So for now, I’m choosing pain and responsibility over relief and a nap. Questionable decision.
My fishing partner had a better day—at least numbers-wise. He caught six fish: two panfish and four bass. Of course, he forgot his scale… again. At this point, I’m starting to think it’s intentional.
And the pictures? Let’s just say if blurry fish photos were a sport, he’d be sponsored. Half the pictures cut the fish off, and the other half look like they were taken during an earthquake.
But the real adventure didn’t start until we tried to leave.
I got back to the launch first and was greeted by a couple of contractors from Alabama Power. They had seen me pull up and came over to talk. Between the language barrier and a lot of hand gestures, I gathered they were stringing a new power line right where I was and wanted me to move.
I explained I was waiting on my buddy… who, by the way, had forgotten his paddle.
Now, before you panic, he’s got a pedal kayak, so getting around wasn’t the issue. Getting out of the water, however, would require a little teamwork—and preferably someone who actually had a paddle.
The contractors weren’t thrilled, but they had little choice but to wait.
When my buddy finally showed up, I filled him in. We got him out of the water and were told it would be about a 20-minute delay.
Forty-five minutes later, it became clear that “20 minutes” was more of a suggestion than a timeline.
So we did what any tired, slightly irritated fishermen would do—we handled it ourselves and loaded up anyway. I noticed the line they were stringing didn’t even have power running through it yet, which made the whole situation even more confusing. But at that point, we were done asking questions.
We loaded up and hit the road.
And immediately got stuck behind a slow-moving truck hauling what looked like half a construction site.
What should have been a 45-minute drive home turned into an hour and a half. Because apparently, the universe decided the day just wasn’t quite long enough yet.
Now here I am the next morning, back aching, truck still needing to be unloaded and reloaded for the craft fair, and wondering why all my hobbies seem to come with a recovery period.
Yesterday had its share of hiccups, but it was our first trip of the regular season. Gear was misplaced, things were forgotten, and clearly, we’re a little rusty.
But now that we’ve got the first trip out of the way, everything should be back where it belongs.
At 4:00 a.m., my alarm will go off, signaling the start of a long—but hopefully rewarding—day. I’ll roll out of bed, grab some breakfast, and head out to meet my fishing buddy at his place by 5:30.
But before I ever get to the water, today was about preparation.
After spending hours out in the heat working on crafts, I came home and shifted gears—loading up the kayak, rods, and every piece of electronics I’ll need. I made sure batteries were fresh, gear was in place, and all safety equipment was accounted for. Or at least… most of it.
Ever since the great Easter weekend cleanup (or “panic clean,” if we’re being honest), there are still a few things that seem to have vanished into thin air. I had a feeling that once I started moving everything around, I’d forget where I put something important.
I was right.
A few weeks ago, I bought some proper red safety flags for the back of my kayak—bright, reflective, and actually visible. In Alabama, anything over 12 feet is supposed to have a red flag attached, and my old solution—a once-red rag—is now so faded it looks more like a tired brown surrender flag than anything useful.
And of course… I can’t find the new ones.
I know how this story ends. I’ll stumble across them one day while I’m tearing the house apart looking for something else I can’t find. That’s just how it works.
But missing flags or not, I’m determined to make the most of tomorrow. A good day on the water doesn’t come from perfect preparation—it comes from being there.
Somewhere in between all of that, I’ve also got a craft fair coming up Saturday. Today, despite the heat, I managed to put together a couple of new trial pieces—a rustic serving tray and a small hanging planter. I didn’t go all in on them just yet. No sense in making a dozen of something if nobody wants one.
But if they sell? I’ll be making more.
There’s something satisfying about working with your hands—whether it’s shaping wood into something useful or casting a line and waiting on that tug. Different kind of work, same kind of reward.
Good Friday is a solemn day. A day set aside to remember the sacrifice of Jesus Christ—His crucifixion, His death, and ultimately the hope, redemption, and victory that came from it. It’s called “Good” not because of what happened, but because of what it means for all of us.
For many people, though, it also means something a little more… practical. A day off work. A three-day weekend. Time with family. Maybe planting flowers, knocking out some yard work, or finally getting around to those projects that have been giving you the side-eye for weeks.
For me? It was a “catch up on everything I’ve been putting off” kind of day.
After breakfast, I headed out to the garage and got to work. I moved equipment outside, cut material for some crafts I’ve got going, and spent a good chunk of the day sanding everything down so it’ll be ready for paint tomorrow. I’ve got a craft show next Saturday, and let’s just say… I’m not exactly ahead of schedule.
Somewhere around 4 PM, my back decided it had officially had enough of my ambition.
But of course, I still had to haul everything back into the garage. Because nothing says “you’re done for the day” like one last round of lifting stuff you probably shouldn’t be lifting.
All I could think about at that point was one thing: A hot cup of coffee, my heating pad, and a recliner.
I finally got everything put up, made a thermos of coffee, and just as I was about to sit down and enjoy that first sip…
My phone rang.
It was my son.
Now, I made the comment to my wife—only halfway joking—that the only time he calls me is when something’s wrong, and he needs help. Not a “Hey Dad, how’s your day?” or “Just checking in.”
Nope. Straight to business.
And sure enough… I was right.
He had a problem. A pretty big one.
Water was coming up through the floor between his kitchen and living room. Not exactly the kind of indoor water feature you want. He had already checked everything—ice maker, sink, water heater, dishwasher, bathrooms—and everything was dry.
So I had him check the water meter.
Still moving.
That’s never a good sign.
His house is built on a slab, which means all the plumbing runs underneath it. And to make things even more interesting, whoever built the house decided that shut-off valves inside the home were apparently optional. So if you want to turn off the water, you’ve got to go all the way out to the road.
Convenient, right?
At this point, it’s looking like a slab leak… which is about as fun as it sounds. He’s got the water shut off, fans running, and a call in to the insurance company. But until they figure things out, he can’t even stay in the house—no water, no way to function normally.
Oh, and he’s got two cats to deal with on top of it.
Because why not add a little extra complication to the mix?
Now here’s where it gets interesting.
We were all supposed to go to his house for Easter lunch.
Yeah… that’s not happening anymore.
So now, everybody’s coming to our house instead.
Which means… cleaning.
And let me tell you, when it’s just my wife living here and me, we don’t exactly keep the place in “company-ready” condition. I’ve got stuff—important stuff, mind you—everywhere.
After supper, I did what I could to clean up, but between my back and a full day of working in the garage, “deep clean” quickly turned into “good enough if you don’t look too close.” There’s always tomorrow, right?
Honestly, if I had known all this was coming, I might’ve paced myself a little better earlier in the day.
Tomorrow, after Bible study, I’m heading over to his place to see if I can spot anything he might’ve missed. I’m holding out hope it’s something simple—maybe a loose line on the dishwasher or refrigerator.
But if it’s not… then it’s in the hands of insurance, plumbers, and flooring folks. And we all know that’s not a quick process.
So no, this wasn’t exactly the Good Friday we had planned.
But I guess sometimes that’s the point.
Even on a day meant for reflection, life still happens. Problems pop up. Plans change. Coffee gets interrupted.
But through it all, we adjust, we help where we can, and we keep moving forward.
And maybe—just maybe—I’ll get to drink that cup of coffee while it’s still hot tomorrow.
Have you ever hit one of those stretches where you really want to do something—but life just keeps stacking the deck against you?
That’s me right now… and fishing.
The weather—well, the temperature at least—has been absolutely perfect. The kind of weather that makes you start mentally packing your gear before you even finish your morning coffee. I’ve been itching to get the kayak in the water.
But of course… It’s never that simple.
First, there’s the wind.
For the last ten days, the wind has been doing everything except cooperating. Now, sure, you can go kayak fishing in the wind… if you enjoy turning your peaceful fishing trip into a CrossFit session. Unless you’re on the water at daybreak, you’ve got a very small window before the breeze turns into a personal trainer yelling, “Paddle harder!”
Nothing quite like trying to hold your spot while questioning your life choices.
But honestly, the wind isn’t even the biggest problem.
Even if the water was as smooth as glass, my schedule has been anything but.
I’ve had something going on nearly every day—mostly doctor appointments. And just when I think I’ve finally got a free day lined up, my phone rings with, “Hey, just a reminder…” At this point, I’m convinced my calendar is just a suggestion, not a plan.
Case in point—I went to the doctor the other day about my back. For years, I thought it was just normal wear and tear… turns out my back has apparently been keeping secrets. Not the fun kind either.
So I finally spot a window. Tomorrow morning? Perfect fishing opportunity. The wind isn’t supposed to pick up until around noon. I’m already picturing that first cast.
Then the phone rings.
It’s the doctor’s office.
“Your MRI is scheduled for tomorrow.”
Of course it is.
So instead of being out on the water trying to catch fish, I’ll be lying perfectly still inside a giant tube while it takes pictures of all the bad decisions I’ve made with my back over the years. Honestly, if that machine could talk, it’d probably just shake its head and say, “Yeah… you probably shouldn’t be kayak fishing either.”
At this point, I’m not even sure what’s more out of alignment—my schedule or my spine.
Looking ahead to next week, it’s the classic tease. The temperature is supposed to drop again early in the week, then warm back up later. But it’s too far out to know what the wind’s going to do… and at this point, I’m convinced it’s working with my doctor.
One of these days, everything is going to line up—the weather, the wind, my schedule… and hopefully my back.
And when it does, those fish better be ready.
Because I’ve got ten days’ worth of missed fishing—and a medically questionable spine—ready to hit the water.
I’ve been a little MIA the last few days, and I’d like to say it’s because I was off on some relaxing retreat.
It was not.
I’ve been at Trade Days.
For two straight days, I stood on my feet greeting people, answering questions, and handing out business cards like I was running for public office. By the end of it, I’m pretty sure I introduced myself more times than a guy on the first night of a reality dating show.
The good news? I met a lot of great people and sold a solid chunk of my inventory.
The bad news? I also proved—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that I did not bring nearly enough stuff.
The Land of “Everything You Never Knew You Needed”
Setting up for Trade Days
Trade Days is an experience.
Imagine a place where you can buy a handcrafted porch swing, a fishing rod, homemade jelly, a birdhouse nicer than your first apartment, and a box of random items that may or may not have come from someone’s attic… all within 50 feet.
That’s Trade Days.
And the crowd? Huge.
I heard multiple people say it took them nearly two hours just to get from the entrance to the field after paying. At that point, you’re not attending an event—you’re on a pilgrimage.
I’d estimate at least 3,000 people came through our section, which explains why I talked so much my voice started negotiating a resignation.
My Two Tables of Confidence
I was fortunate enough to set up with another vendor who sells 3D printed items.
This guy came prepared.
He had six tables. Six. Full. Tables.
Not “we’ll spread things out and make it look nice” full. I mean, packed.
Meanwhile, I rolled in with enough product to confidently fill… two tables.
And just to make things more interesting, those two tables?
They were his.
So not only did he bring enough inventory to run a small retail operation, but I also managed to squat on part of his setup like an uninvited houseguest.
To his credit, he was incredibly gracious. To my credit… I now know I need to make a lot more stuff.
Doing the Math (and Slightly Panicking)
His spot—a 15-foot by 120-foot space with water and electricity—cost $90.
Honestly, after seeing the crowd, that might be one of the better deals out there.
I had several people ask if I’d be back next month, which felt great… until I remembered I already have another show booked that same day.
Also, a small detail—I’d need more inventory, another tent, and a couple more tables.
So yeah, minor logistics.
Mom and daughter having fun in the water
Pre-Show Fishing (a.k.a. Humbling Myself in Nature)
Before all this, I took a day off and went kayaking with my wife and one of my daughters, who was on spring break.
Now, I’d love to say this was purely about family time.
But I also brought my fishing gear.
Because I have priorities.
While they paddled around enjoying the peaceful scenery, I was off to the side doing what I would describe as “aggressively attempting to catch fish.”
I had several bites… or what I think were bites… or possibly just fish laughing at me underwater.
I did hook one decent fish—briefly—until it wrapped my line around some branches and escaped like it had somewhere important to be.
I managed to land one fish, weighing in at a solid ¾ of a pound.
Naturally, this did not impress my audience.
Mission Accomplished Anyway
The real goal of the trip was to get my daughter out kayaking for the first time.
Later that day, she showed me her sunburned legs like a badge of honor and said she had a great time and wants to go again.
So despite my fishing performance, I’m calling that a win.
The Waiting Game
Now I’ve got the fishing bug again.
Unfortunately, my truck is currently in the shop, which means my fishing plans are on hold for about a week. Probably for the best—it gives the fish time to regroup and rebuild their confidence.
Once I’m back on the road, I’m hoping to fish at least once a week… assuming the weather cooperates.
Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s this:
There is nothing quite like making the perfect cast…
…only to have the wind pick it up and deposit your lure directly into a tree like it was the plan all along.
Mother Nature has a sense of humor.
And apparently, I’m part of the joke.
In the meantime, it’s back to the shop—cranking out more inventory and trying to make sure next time I show up with more than “two tables of optimism.”
I can’t really say the craft fair/food truck extravaganza was a total bust… mainly because technically it did happen.
Of the fifteen vendors who signed up, four of us actually showed up.
Four.
Now, no one really seems to know why the other eleven didn’t make it. Maybe they overslept. Maybe they checked the weather and decided it looked suspicious. Maybe they looked at their alarm clock that morning and said, “You know what? I’m good.”
Whatever the reason, part of me is honestly glad they didn’t show up.
In fact, being one of only four vendors worked out pretty well for me. I didn’t make a lot of money, but I did make enough to get my registration fee back. When you’re doing craft fairs, sometimes breaking even is considered a small victory.
There were at least five food trucks set up at the event, and I suspect that’s what most people came for. The smell of barbecue, fried food, and whatever magical seasoning food trucks use tends to pull a crowd much faster than a table full of handcrafted items. People were definitely walking around with plates of food in their hands.
But every once in a while, someone would wander over to the vendor tables between bites.
One of the great things that often comes from doing these shows is meeting other craft vendors. I still remember the first show I did a couple of years ago. I was extremely nervous. I had no idea what to expect.
I kept asking myself questions like:
Am I charging too much? Am I charging too little? What if someone is selling the exact same thing I’m selling, but for half the price?
After that first show, though, I slowly started learning the ins and outs of how these things work. The more shows I did, the more comfortable I became with what I was selling and how everything operated.
Around here, there’s a local state park that hosts a monthly craft fair that brings in over a hundred vendors each month. These shows have been around for a long time. I remember going there as a teenager just to walk around and see what people were selling.
Things have definitely changed over the years.
Back then, it seemed like most people were selling handmade crafts. These days, a lot of booths are filled with boutique items people bought in bulk somewhere and are reselling at a markup. Others are selling what I would politely call “yard sale items”—things that were probably sitting in their garage a week earlier, and they finally decided it was time to part with.
Several people stopped by my table on Saturday, asking if I set up at those big trade days events.
The short answer is no.
The longer answer is that those events require a lot of product because of the amount of traffic they get. I simply don’t have that kind of surplus inventory.
What I sold Saturday was pretty much everything I had made over the past few weeks. With the equipment I use, each project takes time to complete. It can take close to an hour just to cut one item.
Then you have to sand it.
After sanding, it needs to be painted or stained.
Then, in most cases, the pieces have to be assembled together.
On average, I’d estimate it takes at least three hours to complete a single item.
Now I do try to stay organized. While something is being cut, I’m often sanding another piece or painting something else. Sometimes I’m assembling one project while another one is drying. My little garage workshop tends to look like a carefully managed mess most days.
One of the things I really enjoy about doing these shows is meeting people who are doing something similar. The vendor set up to my left on Saturday was a young guy selling 3D-printed items. His stuff looked really good.
I’m not sure what he was charging for his pieces, but as we were packing up, he told me he hadn’t even sold enough to cover his vendor fee.
That’s the risk you take with these events.
Since there were only four vendors there and the crowd wasn’t exactly overwhelming, we had plenty of time to get to know each other. Turns out he’s in his late twenties and has two kids—one five years old and the other just five months old. His wife came by toward the end of the day, and I had the chance to meet her as well. They seemed like wonderful people.
At one point, he mentioned that he owns fifteen CNC machines—everything from diode lasers to CO₂ laser systems.
“Hobby?” I asked.
Because that sounded more like a small manufacturing facility than a hobby.
He laughed and explained that he also has a full-time job installing granite countertops for new home construction. He showed me some photos of his work, and it was actually pretty impressive. From the looks of his product table, his 3D printing work was pretty impressive as well.
He told me he regularly sells at the trade days event I mentioned earlier and has been doing it for several years. Most of the time, there’s a waiting list just to get a spot at those events. I’ve actually looked into selling there myself, but as I’ve already said, I just don’t have the inventory to support a show that size.
But then something interesting happened.
This coming Saturday and Sunday is the next trade-days event, and he has invited me to set up a table beside him. His idea was simple: bring some of my products and see what it’s like to sell there.
I haven’t given him an official answer yet.
But the more I think about it, the more it sounds like it might be a good idea. I think I’d probably have a lot of fun just experiencing the event from the vendor side.
Truth be told, I suspect he might just want the company I’d bring to the table—so to speak. He certainly kept my ear busy most of Saturday, and honestly I didn’t mind the conversation myself.
The downside to all of this is simple math.
I already have two confirmed shows coming up. If I add this trade-day event to the list, that means I’ll be spending a lot more hours out in the garage making things to sell.
On the bright side, it will keep me out of my wife’s hair and out of trouble.
And historically speaking, staying out of trouble has always been a pretty good life strategy.
It’s been a busy week, and I’ve finally been able to relax for a little bit. Tomorrow I’ve got a craft fair, and I’ve been working feverishly trying to finish several projects that I’ll be selling.
Back in November, I sold nearly everything I had at my last craft fair, which was great… except for the fact that I’ve been procrastinating ever since. The main reason? My workshop is in the garage, and my garage has been roughly the same temperature as a commercial freezer lately. There’s something about stepping into a cold garage and standing there for hours that makes procrastination seem like a perfectly reasonable life choice.
This will be my second year attending this particular craft event. I actually know the sister of the lady organizing it. Their organization is trying to raise funds to put lights on a Little League baseball field so kids can play at night, which is a pretty great cause.
Last year was their first year holding the event. Attendance was a little light, and I didn’t sell much. This year I’m hoping for a better turnout—especially since I actually have to pay a vendor fee.
Truth be told, the main reason I’m attending is that I went to high school with the organizer’s sister. So really, I’m treating it more like a charitable event. If I sell a lot, that’s great. If not, at least it’s supporting a good cause.
There are two more craft shows in the area that I might sign up for, depending on how tomorrow goes. If I sell a lot, I may skip them because my inventory will be pretty limited. As it stands, I’ve pretty much used up most of the materials I had on hand.
My next big event is on the 11th of next month, and I’ve been told there will be over 150 vendors selling their arts and crafts. That will likely be one of the largest craft fairs I’ll attend all year. I plan to take a couple of days off from making crafts once tomorrow’s event is over, but once my supplies come in, I’ll be back out in the garage working like a one-man production factory.
Next week should be interesting as well. One of my daughters is on Spring Break. She works for a large university and follows the same schedule as the students. Her big idea for the week is to go kayaking.
The only problem is that the places around here that offer river tours aren’t open yet. Most of them don’t start until after Easter or sometime in May.
So my wife and I decided to improvise.
We ordered a kayak from Walmart so the three of us could go kayaking at one of the places where I normally go fishing. I went to pick it up, and they brought the kayak out… but no paddle.
When I asked about it, the associate told me the paddle wasn’t included.
Now I’m not one to argue, but I had a pretty strong feeling that a kayak without a paddle is basically just a brightly colored floating chair. So I pulled up the online ad on my phone.
Not only did it clearly say the kayak came with a paddle, but it also showed that the price had dropped to $32, which was a bit shocking considering I had paid $200 the day before.
When I showed the associate, the first response was that it must be a misprint. After a short conversation with the manager, two things happened.
First, they found me a paddle.
Second, they refunded me the difference in price.
So not only did I leave with a kayak and a paddle, but I also left with a pretty substantial refund that I was not expecting when I walked into the store.
Next week, when we head out to the creek, my wife and daughter will be paddling around, enjoying the scenery. Meanwhile, I’ll be doing what I normally do when I’m near water—doing a little fishing and hoping I might catch a fish or two.
If I’m lucky, I’ll catch something.
If not, at least I’ll still have the story about the $200 kayak that turned into a $32 kayak with a free paddle.
And honestly, that might be the biggest catch of the week.
Welcome to Campfire Chronicles, where the stories are true, the memories are slightly exaggerated with time, and the odds of something going wrong increase dramatically whenever a group of Scouts and a Dutch oven are involved. These are the kinds of stories usually told around a campfire long after the tents are up and the day’s adventures are over.
Every Scoutmaster eventually has that moment where he thinks, “Well, this is it. This is how my leadership career ends.”
For some, it’s losing a scout on a hike. For others, it’s accidentally setting something on fire during a campfire demonstration.
For me, it was standing in the middle of a campground in North Carolina, wondering if I had just poisoned an entire troop of Boy Scouts with one pot of Chuckwagon stew.
Fortunately, that’s not actually what happened.
But for about twelve very stressful hours… I was pretty sure it had.
As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, the summer camps in our area seemed to offer the same merit badges year after year. That was fine for younger scouts, but our troop was mostly older boys who were tired of taking the same classes every summer. After a while, earning the same merit badge three times loses its excitement.
So, we made them a promise: we would find other camps or create our own summer camp where they could earn merit badges that weren’t offered at our council camps.
During my tenure as Scoutmaster, we went out of council three different times. One trip was to a traditional camp in North Georgia. The other two were “do-it-yourself” summer camps—one in Cherokee, North Carolina, and the other at Raccoon Mountain in Tennessee.
This story takes place at Flaming Arrow Campgrounds in Cherokee, North Carolina.
When I first contacted the owners about bringing our troop there for a week, they were… let’s say… less than enthusiastic.
In fact, the conversation started out sounding like they were politely trying to figure out how to tell me, “Absolutely not.”
Eventually, they explained why.
A previous scouting event had taken place there, and the campground had been left in a terrible state. The main problem?
Hard-boiled eggs.
And not just a few eggs.
Eggs everywhere.
Now, before you start wondering what kind of strange breakfast riot had taken place, I should explain.
Within the scouting program, there’s an organization called the Order of the Arrow. Think of it as the scouting version of the National Honor Society. During part of their induction process, participants go through what’s called an Ordeal. On the first day, they work in silence and receive very simple lunch rations: bread, water, and a hard-boiled egg.
It’s meant to symbolize self-discipline and sacrifice.
Apparently, some scouts decided the egg part of that lesson was optional.
Instead of eating them, they simply tossed them all over the campground like little sulfur-filled hand grenades.
And as anyone who has ever forgotten a boiled egg in the refrigerator can tell you… A rotten egg has a smell that could knock a buzzard off a garbage truck.
The campground owners were left with eggs scattered everywhere and the delightful aroma that followed.
Needless to say, they were not eager to host another scout group.
I assured them our troop was not that kind of group. To prove it, I told them to give us a list of projects that needed to be done around the campground. If they let us stay for the week, we would bring the tools and handle whatever work needed to be done.
Reluctantly, they agreed.
About six weeks before the trip, I began assigning merit badges to the adult leaders who were attending camp. The goal was to teach the boys things they normally couldn’t get at our council camps.
The campground didn’t have a lake—only a swimming pool—so water activities were somewhat limited. But we did have a certified lifeguard with us, so the Swimming merit badge was covered.
As for the rest of our teaching staff, we had quite a lineup:
I’m a master plumber, so the Plumbing merit badge was easy.
We had a registered nurse, so First Aid was covered.
We also had engineers, teachers, and even a mechanic.
The look on the campground owner’s face was priceless when we asked if we could change the oil in his car.
He probably thought we were joking.
We were not.
He ended up getting a free oil and filter change that week.
The trip started off great. When we arrived, we discovered the campground had go-karts available for registered campers.
The boys immediately wanted to ride them every single day.
Unfortunately, our schedule didn’t allow that, but we did manage to work it on our sightseeing day.
Sightseeing Day
This was the day we planned to visit Gatlinburg, Tennessee.
We divided the boys into four groups, each with at least two adult leaders. The rule was simple: they could do whatever they wanted if the adults approved.
They went shopping. They ate pizza. They rode the Sky Lift to Ober Gatlinburg, where some of them went ice skating.
My group had our pictures taken dressed like characters from the Old West. A couple of the boys even dressed up in women’s outfits just for laughs.
Let’s just say those pictures would make excellent campaign material if any of them ever ran for public office.
I got caught stealing the gold dust.
By the time we got on the bus to head back to camp, those boys were completely worn out.
Which was perfect.
Because that night the adults were cooking dinner.
I was put in charge since I had developed a reputation for my Dutch oven cooking.
On the menu was something called Chuckwagon Stew.
There was just one small issue.
I had never actually made it before.
But how hard could stew be?
I followed the recipe carefully. About halfway through adding ingredients, I realized something important.
This stew was going to be spicy.
Not “a little kick” spicy.
More like “you might need a fire extinguisher for your tongue” spicy.
So, I asked the other leaders what they thought.
Every single one of them said the same thing.
“Make it exactly like the recipe says.”
Those men are no longer allowed to give me cooking advice.
Dinner was served, and as expected, the stew had a little bite to it. Most of the boys ate it without any problems. Others discovered that milk is a wonderful invention.
A few of the boys turned dinner into a contest to see who could eat the most bowls.
My son was one of the competitors.
In the end, one boy managed to eat four bowls and was crowned the unofficial Chuckwagon Champion.
Not long after dinner, one of the boys who had dropped out of the competition started feeling sick.
At first, there were stomach cramps and nausea.
Then he became violently ill.
His father—who was on the trip—came to me worried that his son had food poisoning.
Now I didn’t say this out loud…
…but the same thought had already crossed my mind.
After about thirty minutes, his symptoms got worse. His father and two medics with us loaded him up and headed to the nearest hospital.
The hospital was about thirty minutes away.
They got there, started the paperwork, and then discovered something unexpected.
Because it was a Cherokee Nation hospital, they could only treat patients affiliated with the Cherokee Nation.
The scout and his father were not.
So, after all that, they had to load him back into the car and drove another thirty minutes to the next hospital.
Back at camp, I spent the rest of the evening quietly wondering if I had just poisoned an entire troop of Boy Scouts with one pot of stew.
Thankfully, no one else got sick.
Late the next afternoon, one of the medics returned with the update.
The scout had an intestinal infection related to his appendix. It was infected, but not bad enough to remove it. He would stay in the hospital for a few days and receive antibiotics.
The relief I felt was enormous.
I was sorry the scout had gotten sick, but at least I hadn’t poisoned thirty people with dinner.
He eventually returned to camp on the last full day. After several days of hospital food, he said camp cooking sounded pretty good again—even if it was a little spicy.
No matter how much planning you do, something unexpected will always happen.
This was a perfect example.
The Scout Motto is “Be Prepared.”
Although in this case, I’m not entirely sure how anyone prepares for a spicy stew, a hospital run, and a campground haunted by rotten eggs.
But one thing is certain.
It’s a summer camp story none of us will ever forget.
On one of our hiking adventures, we planned a trip to the Eye of the Needle — a rock formation deep inside the Sipsey Wilderness. This trip was special because it was the first real hiking experience for several of the boys, so we intentionally chose what we believed was an easy trail.
(“Easy trail,” by the way, is hiking language for you probably won’t die, but you will question your ability as a hiker.)
At this point in my scouting career, I was serving as an Assistant Scoutmaster. Our Scoutmaster was a middle-aged lady who, along with her son, had been involved in scouting far longer than I had. I was in the process of completing Scoutmaster training to eventually take over the role.
When we arrived at the trailhead, she announced that she wanted to separate the boys and have them camp at one site while the adult leaders camped at another.
Immediately, alarms went off in my head.
The rule was clear: two-deep leadership at all times. If the boys camped separately, we would be breaking that rule.
While we were hiking, I carefully brought this up. She quickly informed me that I didn’t know what I was talking about and started listing situations where other troops had done the same thing. I could tell I had upset her, so I dropped it — at least out loud.
Another leader later pulled me aside during a break. He agreed with me but didn’t want to push the issue and create conflict.
Nothing brings adults together like silently agreeing that something is a bad idea… and then doing it anyway.
That uneasy feeling never left me.
Setting Up Camp
We reached the first campsite around dusk. We made sure the boys had everything they needed and supervised them setting up their backpacking tents. Once the Scoutmaster was satisfied everything was under control, the adult leaders picked up our packs and hiked another 45 minutes to the opposite side of the rock formation.
The Eye of the Needle itself is massive. At the top is a round opening in the rock that leads to the other side. Climbing it and descending would only take about 20 minutes — but one slip could easily mean a broken bone… or worse.
Or at minimum, a very awkward conversation with your wife when you get home.
From the moment we left the boys, I felt sick. You know that feeling — when you know something isn’t right, but the train has already left the station, and you’re sitting in seat 12B with no emergency exit.
The Preparation — And The One Thing We Couldn’t Prevent
Because this was a backpacking trip, everyone carried their own meals. Since it was only one night, we just needed supper and breakfast. Most people brought dehydrated meals — just add boiling water.
Which, if you’ve never had one, tastes somewhere between “not bad” and eating a cardboard box.”
We had spent weeks preparing for this trip.
We checked the packs for weight limits. We made every boy demonstrate their stove. We made every boy cook the exact meal they planned to cook on the trip.
We did everything right.
Except for the small detail that teenage boys sometimes forget things 12 minutes after you teach them.
The Moment Everything Changed
While we leaders were sitting around cooking, one of the boys came scrambling down the hill yelling that another scout had burned his foot.
Then the injured scout came hopping down after him.
He had placed his stove between his feet. When he turned to grab something, he knocked boiling water onto his other foot. When he pulled off his shoe, it took skin with it.
At that moment, every first aid class I had ever taken came rushing back into my brain like a pop quiz I was not emotionally prepared for.
I knew immediately — this was serious.
His father was on the trip and worked in the medical field. We both agreed: he needed a hospital immediately.
The problem was — we were five miles from the trailhead; five miles in the middle of nowhere. And it was after 9 PM.
And nobody hikes faster after dark carrying another human unless a bear is involved.
Bad Choices… Leading to Worse Ones
Breaking camp and moving everyone would take too long. The decision was made that the injured scout’s father and two leaders would carry him out.
That left two leaders to return to camp after making sure the injured scout and his dad made it safely to the trailhead.
And one leader to stay with eight scouts.
Me.
I was “volunteered.” Probably because I was the slowest hiker in the group anyway.
Nothing boosts your confidence like hearing, “You stay here… you’ll just slow us down.”
The problem? I physically couldn’t reach the boys quickly if something else happened.
And one of those boys… was my son.
I made a decision, and I’m still not sure it was the right one. I carefully climbed the rock formation until I was close enough for them to hear me and yelled for them to get into their tents and stay there until the leaders returned.
I probably sounded like an angry mountain goat, but they got the message.
The Longest Night
The other leaders returned around 3 AM.
I stayed awake the entire time waiting.
I didn’t say a word. I just went to bed.
Some conversations don’t need to happen right then — because everyone already knows.
And, because I was too tired to form complete sentences.
The Quiet Ride Home
Breaking camp was silent.
The boys were exhausted. Most slept during the 2½ hour ride home.
I might have slept for an hour myself.
The next week, parents started calling. They were upset — and rightfully so. I assured each of them that we would address it at the next meeting.
At that meeting, I came prepared. I brought every written rule regarding two-deep leadership.
The Scoutmaster apologized. She admitted she was wrong.
Lessons You Don’t Forget
Sometimes leadership means speaking up. Sometimes it means living with decisions you wish you could take back. And sometimes it means learning that rules exist because someone, somewhere, learned the hard way. There is a reason instructions are printed on the back side of a shampoo bottle.
That night, I learned to trust my gut.
Because sometimes that sick feeling in your stomach… Is wisdom trying to get your attention.
And sometimes… It’s also dehydrated beef stroganoff. But that’s a different story.
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