It was a dirt clod fight, not a rock fight, but that’s the best I could do for a song. We did have a pine cone fight that turned into a rock fight on one campout…

It was just a dip in the creek at first. Then it turned into a war. The Scoutmaster lost track of us like he sometimes did on campouts. He was old. Several of us Boy Scouts took off through the pasture.

We climbed a couple of fences and found a swimming hole.

A farmer had scooped out a hole next to a 9-foot mud embankment. The water smelled like cow shit, but no one cared. A deep spot in a muddy creek might be as close to a swimming pool as you’re gonna get in the country.

And who needs a swim suit when you already have underwear? It wasn’t really deep enough for swimming, but we had a hell of a time splashing each other in the face. An older boy got out and pelted us with dirt clods.

They weren’t rocks, but they still hurt like a bastard. Soon the water looked like chocolate milk. The war was on.

My buddies and I got up the cliff first. We had the high ground and plenty of ammo – the embankment was made of dirt clods. I can’t throw for shit, but I got off a couple of good ones.

I saw my patrol leader, almost at the top. He was a cool guy, but also kind of a badass. He could beat up his brother, who was fully able to kick most of our asses. If he got to the top my team was done.

I found a basketball-size dirt clod and rolled it over the edge. As soon as I did I knew I fucked up. It hit him on top of the head and down he went. I saw the look in his eye just before he fell and forgot all about the dirt clod fight.

I ran through the pasture and hid in a gully until dusk, then wandered back to the campsite. He was waiting for me next to a galvanized tub of warm water.

“You better be glad I didn’t catch you,” he said. “I was gonna break your arm. Now I’m JUST gonna make you wash the dishes.”

All in all it was a good day.

This was my dad’s Boy Scout Handbook. I don’t know what happened to mine.

#Boy Scouts, #Camping, #Boys, #Country Life